


Cold Nights and Tired Dreams

by undernightlight



Series: #ProtectMarkCohen [3]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay, HIV/AIDS, Platonic Cuddling, like this is so cute trust me, please trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:12:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: After Roger left, Mark was concerned he wouldn't be able to manage on his own. What else was he supposed to do but get a new roommate? She turns out to not be that bad, and Mark comes to rely on her. Then Roger returns.AU canon divergence from Goodbye Love onwards.Eventual Mark/OC (slow burn, I guess) with Roger/Mimi and Joanne/Maureen, mentions of Collins/Angel





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is my first multi-chapter Rent fic, so I do hope you enjoy.  
> The story does follow the film/production, but with an added character, so some things are a little different, but I've tried my best to keep it as true and in style as I could.
> 
> Side note: I do not have a beta-reader, so apologies for any mistakes.

“I hear there are great restaurants out West.” He stood in the doorway, hands nervously fidgeting as he watched Roger throw things into his bag, clothes mainly.

“Some of the best...how could she?” Mark knew it was rhetorical.

“How could you let her go?”

“You just don’t know,” and his voice wobbled, “How could we lose Angel?” It still wasn’t real to Roger.

“Maybe you’ll see why when you stop escaping you’re pain. At least now if you try, Angel’s death won’t be in vain.” He reaches out, only to have Roger turn around sharp and sudden.

“His death is in vain!” His voice ripped from his body, loud and attacking; Mark’s arm retracted into his body at lightning speed, and his mind had to comprehend that thought before he could speak. Roger was walking away, but this conversation wasn’t over.

“Are you insane? There’s so much to care about, there’s me-there’s Mimi.” Roger can’t forget her, not after how long he’d been pining and wishing, and now he was happy. Mark though he must be crazy if he was forgetting her.

“Mimi’s got a baggage too.”

“So do you!”

“Who are you to tell me what I know, what to do?”

“A friend.” At least, Mark hoped. 

“But who Mark, are you?” Roger’s eyes were watering, his jaw hurt from trying his hardest to contain it all, but it hurt so much more to see Mark just looking at him, no emotion on his face, clear eyes unlike his. “Mark has got his work. They say Mark lives for his work, and Mark’s in love with his work; Mark hides in his work.”

“From what?”

“From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie.” Roger saw his jaw tighten, but that was all, and Roger was crying now, and he felt stupid for it when Mark hardly seemed to care, maybe just surprised someone had noticed him hiding. He saw Mark go to speak, but he wouldn’t let him now. “Yes you live a lie, tell you why, you’re always preaching not to be numb, but that’s how you thrive. You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive-”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m the one of us to survive!” Mark couldn’t take this. He felt sick to the stomach and the room was starting to spin; Roger was firing bullets that gave a direct hit each time. How could he take this? What was he supposed to do? Let everything just happen, for him to feel everything? He couldn’t do that, he wasn’t strong enough for that.

“Poor baby,” and Roger had fired a fatal shot. But Mark was a soldier and pushed on, pulling Roger back in before he could get out.

“Mimi still loves you, are you really jealous, or afraid that Mimi’s weak?”

“Mimi did look pale.” The fire had calmed, but Mark could still feel the heat, the burns on his skin.

“Mimi’s gotten thin. Mimi’s running out of time. And you're running out the door-”

“No more!....I’ve got to go.” He swung the bag across his shoulders and walked to the door.

“Hey!” Mark called out, one last time, “For someone who’s always been let down, who’s heading out of town?” Mark knew that was a mistake the moment the words flowed off his tongue and passed his lips, but he said them. Roger stormed back, closing distance between them with each stride, Mark unable to take enough steps back to be clear of him.

“For someone who longs for a community of his own, who’s with his camera, alone?” Did Roger really have to emphasise that last word? As if Mark wasn’t already painfully aware of that.

Roger realised he made a mistake too. They were friends, what was happening? This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Everything was supposed to be fine between them, it always was, so why did it have to be different now? “I’ll call.” He wanted Mark to at least know that he still cared, Mark was his best friend, that this argument, despite the miles about to be put between them, didn’t mean the end of that friendship. Mark just looked at him. “I hate the fall.”

# # # # # #

She walked up the stairs of the old apartment building, checking the ad she’d ripped out of the newspaper at the coffee house, making sure she was in the right place and that she got the right apartment. She came up to the door, a large sliding hunk of wood, and knocked, rapping her knuckles hard. A few moments later a man opened it.

“Hello?” It seemed he wasn’t expecting anyone, which made sense as there was no way to get in contact with him on the ad. He was a few inches taller than her, she noted, with glasses, slightly messy hair and a rather confused face.

“Hi, yes, I’m here about the needed roommate ad I found,” she said, holding it out for him to verify.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I wasn’t expecting a response so quick. Please, come in. I’m Mark, by the way.” He stepped aside to let her in, then held out his hand. She shook it with a smile.

“Taylor, nice to meet you.”

“And you. Don’t mind the mess, I’m sorry, I thought I’d have more time to get everything together before someone was interested.”

“It’s fine.” She looked around, taking mindless steps around the apartment. It was large, spacious, but definitely run down; it could do with work, but she liked how lived in it felt, whether by him or other people before. Large windows lit up the room, making it almost blindingly bright on a clear fall day like this. There were dishes, a mug, plate, cup, on the coffee table that he quickly swept away and to the sink, as if embarrassed to show that someone did indeed live here. 

“It’s not much, I know.”

“No, no, I like it. Does this open still?” She’d walked over to the window, motioning to the panels that open out onto the fire escape.

“Yeah, here,” and he walked over, opening it for her. She stepped out and the cold hit her. She liked this weather, the cold but not windy weather. The streets were busy beneath them, up on the third floor.

“I like this,” talking to herself, not knowing Mark had followed her out until she heard his voice behind her.

“Yeah.” She was startled slighting and he apologized. “But it is nice out here, good for thinking.”

“I can imagine.”

They went back in after another moment or so. She liked what she saw, especially after he showed the modest sized bedroom and bathroom.

“It’s far from perfect, I know, and it gets cold and water can get in when it rains too hard. I understand it’s not ideal for most, myself included I guess.” He’d made little jokes like that throughout the visit, and he seemed so genuinely nice, but also shy and awkward.

“I like it. When is it available to be lived in? Like, when can I move?”

“Urm, whenever best for you. I mean, I have a job but I could always take a day off to help, if you needed it, and I don’t work Fridays or Saturdays.”

“Would Friday be too soon?”

“No, that sounds fine. Do...you need any help packing and moving stuff?”

“I’ve got it all packed, so that’s fine, and I should be able to move most of it on my own; I don’t have much really.”

“Oh okay. Well, I’ll be here all Friday, so whenever’s ideal, I’ll be here.”

They exchanged further details, last names and rent costs included, before she thanked him for allowing her to move in so soon, and a general thank you for allowing her to see the apartment with no notice before hand.

“It’s fine. Honestly, the sooner the better for me too. It’s nice to know you’re not going to get evicted because you can’t afford the rent.”

“I can imagine.”


	2. Company on the Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few months since Taylor moved in, and things are good.

_A few months later._

“Mark, get up, you'll be late!” She hollered from the stove.

“I'm up, relax,” he shouted back, and seconds later he emerged, dressed, with one shoe on, the other in his hand. “Happy now?”

“I suppose,” she said with a smile. “Put your shoe on and come get your toast.”

Mark sat on the edge of the couch, shimmying on his shoe by pushing his foot in without loosening the laces first. He stood and walked over, pinching a half piece of toast of the plate next to Taylor, and leaning against the counter next to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked, crumbs flying.

“Making my lunch. You want something?”

“No, it's fine. I'll get something out.”

“You better! I don't want to have to deal with your rumbling stomach when I get back.”

“You know, I never thought I'd have this, to not worry about whether I could afford anything to eat or not.”

“The joys of a stable income Mark.”

He chuckled, but she was speaking from past experience. He agreed to make sure to eat, and that he should be going, or he really would be late. She waved him out, towel whipping his ass for good measure, and then he left, face bright red and Taylor giggling away.

She finished her lunch, put it in a tub and let it cool while she gathered the things she needed for work, which luckily wasn't much; her apron mainly, some money in case she needed anything while she was out, and her keys. She put the lid on her lunch, then shoved it in her bag as she headed out the door, on the way to the cafe.

# # # # # #

When she got home that evening, Mark was already back, like usual. He was sleeping on the couch, laying on his stomach, his glasses placed on the coffee table. He'd had the grace to kick his shoes halfway across the room, lay his coat across the back of the chair, and drop his bag in the middle of the floor. He must’ve had a bad day at work, Taylor thought, as he very rarely slept during the day, he wasn't able to even when he wanted to. She debated waking him. He looked very comfortable, face smushed slightly against the couch cushion, his arm hanging off the edge with his hand palm side up against the floor. He must’ve had a really bad day. He also had difficulty sleeping, so to wake him would be depriving him of something he very much needed in her opinion. However, if she left him to sleep, she doubted he’d sleep much tonight, less than usual, and she hated leaving him up and awake on his own.

In the end she left him. She decided if she did end up staying into the hours of the next day with him, then she’d just call in sick if necessary; one day off could do her some good.

So she went about tidying the apartment. It wasn’t messy, per say, but she still had a box or two of belonging she had yet to open. Mark hadn’t pushed her on sorting them out, which she was thankful for, but she did find it unfair to him, just having them take up space in the main room. She still didn’t open them as she moved them to her bedroom. It had been months, and she still couldn’t believe it.

She tidied her room too, though she didn’t spend that much time in there anymore. Her and Mark had become quick friends, first bonding over their love for film, and their slight flare for the dramatic, and soon it seemed like she’d known him far longer than she actually had. It seemed, more often or not, they shared a bed now, especially in the cold months of winter. It was nothing weird, but he was always so cold, and the temperature didn’t affect her to the extreme it did him, so in comparison, she burned like an inferno. And both of them appreciated company. They’d had long conversations into the early hours, or they’d just be quiet in each other’s company. It was slightly weird that first time, when they’d fallen asleep on the couch, somehow ending up slightly tangled, but both of them found it comforting to be next to somebody when they awoke. The first time they’d slept in the same bed was also strange; Mark couldn’t sleep, so she said she’d sit with him, and they could talk and he wouldn’t bore himself by staring at the wall for hours. They’d both fallen asleep and neither knew who did first. It just became something they did, when one couldn’t sleep, or it was cold, or they just wanted company. Taylor pitied the people who’d never had the joy of platonic spooning.

She hadn’t been home too long, less than an hour, when she hear footsteps in the other room, and seconds later, a groggy Mark Cohen appeared in her doorway.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his glasses on his head.

“Hi sleepy head,” she replied. Taylor walked over, taking the glasses of his head, and placing them on his face, and he chuckled slightly when she did. She took the opportunity to smooth down random strands of hair that were sticking up radically from his sleep.

“Thanks.” His voice was tired, dry, and she knew it wasn’t just from sleeping. She could see it in his face too, this expression of being done, being fed up, and being to very sick of so many things.

“Come,” she said, but gave him no opportunity to object as he took a hold of his wrist and pulled him from the room. He gave little to no resistance, following behind her with dragging footsteps. She sat on the couch and forced him down across from her, facing each other. “What happened?”

She didn’t need to explain, he knew exactly what she was referring to, and he began talking, still feeling drained. “This isn’t what I want to do. I’m sick of just lugging cases to and from the truck. I’m not doing the stuff I want to; I’m not making my film. And they treat me like shit.” Honesty is good, he tells himself as he speaks. “I’m not happy there. They just walk all over me.”

“But today was particularly bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, you know me well. They just...don’t care what happens, you know. They say they care, but they don’t. They couldn’t care less what happened. They think they have complete control of me, and they seem to think I’m okay with them talking down to me and belittling my work, work I’m trying hard to produce for them; constructive criticism is fine, but it’s not constructive, they’re just telling me how bad everything I do it and they think it’s fucking funny.”

“Oh Mark, I’m sorry. And you know your work’s good. You’re work got you that job, so clearly they thought it was good if they’re willing to pay you.”

“The company, maybe, yeah. But the people, my _coworkers_ , don’t care. They hate it all.”

“First off, your work is great, you know that, so I do, so does everyone that’s seen it. Secondly, since when did you care what others thought Mark? You’ve always done it your way. If you were worried about what people thought, you wouldn’t be making this documentary to begin with. Those assholes wouldn’t know talent if it was stood in front of them with a scarf and glasses and a wind-up camera.”

He huffed out a laugh, a small smile played on his lips. “Hey,” she said, causing him to look up, “You got this. If you’re not happy, do something about. I don’t want you feeling miserable because of some jerks, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know...thanks.”

“No need to thank me, it’s what friends are for.” And he smiled again, nodding.

“Speaking of friends,” he began, “You coming out tonight? Helping us look?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Thought you might be bored spending your nights in the cold looking for someone you hardly even know.”

“Mimi’s important to you, and to Tom and Maureen and Joanne. I’m going to help you look. And beside, the cold never bothered me anyway.”

“I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing. I’m here to help anyway I can, you know that.”

“Yeah, but still.” His smile was soft, shy almost.

“Up,” she demanded, standing on her own command, and he followed suit, almost hesitant, before he was up and she pulled him into a hug. She stretched up slightly to wrapped her arms around his neck, and his arms fit comfortable around her waist; she gave good hugs. He buried his face in the shoulder of her sweatshirt. Work was shitty, yeah, but what was he supposed to do?

He pulled away, but smiling. “I told Collins I’d meet him outside Life in about an hour. I don’t think he’ll object to extra help.”

“Can’t imagine he would, no.” They had time to kill. She cooked them something small, and made hot chocolate for Mark, putting it in a flask and giving it to him to keep in his bag. She tired her hair up in a scrunchie, hopefully to avoid facefulls of hair if there was a strong wind. They talked throughout it all, as they always did, Taylor nearly dropping a bowl on the floor from laughing, but they couldn’t afford to break and replace anything else, not after two mugs and a plate had been lost.

She shimmied on her black coat jacket, zipping up and pulling the collar up to cover her neck. Mark pulled on his coat too, wrapping his scarf around his neck. Their apartment was always cold, few t-shirts in sight, but even as soon as they stepped out into the stairwell, Mark was shivering. This would be a long night for him, she thought, as he locked the door and they made their way down. His paces slowed slightly when they passed Mimi’s door, and he just stared at it before she pulled him away; it wouldn’t do him any good just looking at it.

Conversation flowed between them as it always did, despite the harsh and prominent chill in the air, and they reached the Life Cafe earlier that they expected. Collins was already there, stood outside waiting, hands deep in his trench pockets. His expression grew to a smile when he saw them approach.

“Mark, Taylor, how you doing?” He hugged them both as he always did; one arm over and one arm under with Mark, and arms wrapped around Taylor, lifting her from the ground slightly each time.

“Nice to see you too Tom,” she said as he set her down.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight, Mark didn’t mention it to me on the phone.”

“Yeah, well, I always comes though, so he should’ve known better then to have to ask me before hand, but yeah, I’m here, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all kiddo, everyone’s welcome, the more help the better.” His tone was less bright then, and it reminded them all why there were out in the dark, freezing cold of winter in the first place. “We’re just waiting on Maureen and Joanne now, but they should be here soon,” but his tone quickly picked back up to his usual, “Thought we’d split up like we normally do. Either me with you two or me with those two, I don’t mind.”

“Doesn’t bother us,” Mark said, bringing his arms in further on his body at any hope to retain his body heat; he needed another coat, he thought.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Taylor added.

Soon enough, Maureen and Joanne appeared, with Maureen looking like she was having the time of her life in clothes that really weren’t ideal for the weather. Joanne was more appropriately dressed, with a long thick coat compared to Maureen’s shorter jacket. It was nice seeing them together, as even though Taylor hadn’t known them too long, their relationship had always been, at the best times, rocky. Everyone exchanged hugs and smiles and casual formalities before dividing off; Collins went with Mark and Taylor, and they began walking on one of the normal search routes as well as branching out and searching anywhere they could, anywhere that made sense and even places that didn’t, being as hopeful as they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To let you know, I will be uploading every Wednesday, but most likely at inconsistent times, so sorry for that in advance. I know this story isn't going to get many hits since it seems Rent is a dwindling fandom, so if you could please take a little time to give kudos or write a comment. This story is important to me, and I'd like to know somebody enjoys reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
> 
> Also, happy late Easter, and if you don't do Easter, I hope you have a good day.


	3. Home Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work...or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any mistakes!

It was late when Mark and Taylor got home from another empty night. No luck. Taylor took it hard, so she couldn't imagine what it was doing to Mark, to know his friend was missing, not knowing if he'd ever see her again; it must be killing him inside.

He unlocked the door and slid it open with much more force than necessary and stormed in. It shocked Taylor, more the surprise than the action itself, and she followed after a few seconds of delay, before locking the door behind her. Mark was stood, bag and coat still on, scarf still around his neck, leaning forward against one of the chair, his back to her. She could hear his breathing, and how he was trying to keep it all under control.

“We should sleep, it's late.” She tried to bring him back to her, and it worked, if only a little.

“How can I go to sleep, knowing she's still out there somewhere and I have no idea where, and she could be lost and alone and cold and scared and-”

“Mark,” and he looked up from his distant focal point on the floor. She'd come closer, on the opposite side, in front of him, “I get it, but you need to sleep. This can't consume you. Breathe, okay?”

He nodded his head, small, rapid shakes as he focused on inhaling and exhaling to a steady beat; The Well Hungarians, a song called Disaster, one that Roger wrote. It was an old one, but it was one of Mark’s favourites. And his breathing was steady again.

“You need to sleep, come one.” Taylor gently pried Mark’s hands from the chair cushion, and led him to his room. He was still dazed slightly, lyrics floating round his head, but he was enough there when he reached his room to understand and to know what to do.

He took off his bag and set it carefully on the ground, making a mental note to clean out the empty thermos in the morning. He was less kind to his coat, dumping it on the floor with an airy thud. Taylor’s actions were similar, taking off her coat and putting it on the floor. They changed. Mark slept in his boxers and a long sleeved t-shirt, with Taylor wearing similar; a long t-shirt and underwear, and they climbed into bed. More accurately, they climbed onto the mattress; his room didn't have a bed frame. Mark had explained that some of the slats on his old roommate’s bed had broken, and when putting out the ad for a roommate, he didn't want to have to say they didn't even have a bed, so he's given up a proper bed to have a potential roommate.

And as they lay there, atop of the mattress on the floor and under the mound of duvet and blanks, Taylor thought he should probably have it back, since they mostly slept in here anyway. They were facing each other, their legs not yet tangled, and Mark stared down at his hand.

“It'll be okay,” she reassured.

“You don't know that.”

“I do, and it will all be okay. Maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but it will be, I can promise you that.”

He looked to her, his eyes sad, and she snuggled closer to him. She knew him well now, and she knew one thing he hated, so desperately feared, was being alone, feeling alone. So when he was like this, in moods of willing isolation and despair, she made sure to stay close to him, so he knew someone was there, and that he didn't have to suffer by himself. He responded, moving a hand to drape across her waist and ribs, and rest comfortably high on her back, and she shifted to allow her arm to lay atop his, her hand resting just above his elbow. Slowly, with no words spoken, they drifted to sleep, much sooner than either had anticipated.

# # # # # #

When Taylor woke up, she felt okay. Tired, but she always was when she first opened her eyes. Arms were around her, and she could feel Mark’s breathing on her neck; it was steady, so he was still asleep. He needed as much sleep as he could get, so she pulled herself out of his arms as carefully as she could, and rolled herself onto the floor before getting to her feet. She showered and changed, ready for work in another sweatshirt and faded, ripped jeans. For breakfast, she decided to use up the remaining eggs they had, and she’d go the shop on the way home.

When Mark woke up, he still feeling generally terrible, but at least fairly well rested compared to the rest of the week, though he still felt incredibly tired and miserable. Taylor wasn’t there, she must already be up, he thought, but he didn’t quite have the effort to go and find out yet. So he remained in bed, despite needing the bathroom, because he knew he’d freeze if he ventured out from under the pile of bedding. He stayed there, until he heard Taylor shout him from the main room.

“Mark, get up.”

“I’m up.”

“I doubt that. You’ve got work, get out of bed.”

He did get up, got dressed, but he’d already made his mind up last night; he wasn’t going to work today. After last night’s disaster of a search, coupled with the terrible company and colleagues at Buzzline, he just didn’t have the physical and mental strength to tolerate it today. He went the bathroom before collapsing down on the couch, face first.

“Mark?” Taylor asked as she placed a plate of eggs on the coffee table in front of him.

“Yeah?”

“Work?”

“I’m not going.” His eyes were closed, but it was silent. She didn’t respond, and his nerves were building up. What would she say? He had to open his eyes to make sure she was still there, and she hadn’t just walked away or left the apartment. From how he was laying, he could only see up to her stomach, his own face blocking his eyes and his glasses pushed out of alignment, the lenses resting against his nose and forehead; her hands were in her pockets, her arms relaxed though, her hips jutted out slightly.

“Okay,” she said after a while, which somehow still confused him, so he had to roll back slightly to see her face. “Stay home, rest up, but don’t stress yourself out, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You better get going, or you’ll be late for work.”

“Alright. You want anything from the shop while I’m out?”

“No, I’m alright thanks.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you later then.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek, and kissed hers back, and she threw on her coat, grabbed her back and headed out the door. And now he was alone, left alone in the cold apartment. Today could be a long day, but he wouldn’t let that happen, he’d be productive, he told himself, but first he must eat his eggs.

He did, and Taylor had cooked them just the way he’d liked them, and he practically inhaled them; he loved eggs for breakfast. He phoned in sick after he’d washed his plate. They didn’t seem bothered that he wasn’t going to be in, which really just solidified to him how valuable they must thing he is. He was ready to go back to bed, but had a feeling sleep would elude him, so he decided he’d work on his old and abandoned screenplay. He did want to finish it, one of these days, but his writers block had become much more permanent than temporary. Even thinking about it somehow frustrated him, but he honestly had nothing better to do.

So he sat down with a few pages from his last written scene and began reading through, trying to find at what line of dialogue he’d given up; Matt was trying to convince Michelle that she should give him another chance, that they should stay together and everything would be alright if they faced it all together. Michelle wasn’t convinced, said they weren’t right for each other and that he should move on, because she already has.

It was painful for him to even read through the lines, to say them quietly under his breath as he did so, because it was so painfully clear who all these characters were; he was Matt, Maureen was Michelle, earlier, the scene before there was Rob, so clearly Roger with the same, worn down and slowly more ill-fitting clothes as he lost weight from withdrawal. Even when he thought of these details, he couldn’t tell if he was remembering what he’d wrote on paper or what he’d seen with his own eyes.

Maybe if he changed the names it would be salvageable? Who was he trying to kid, this was an abomination, and should’ve been one of the first things he burned when him and Roger were freezing to death. He managed to write only two lines, scribbles of dialogue on old paper as he had to pawn off his typewriter months ago, before he really couldn’t handle it anymore, pushing the paper away from him, causing them to gracefully slide off the table and spread out on the floor boards. He did not have the energy to pick them up, and just stared at them for a while before dropping his pencil on the table, and flopping backwards onto the couch.

Mark adjusted himself to be more comfortable, on his back with his head on the couch and his feet hanging over the arm, looking up at their ceiling. He found himself thinking back to Roger, since thinking of him and his music last night. He found himself thinking of one song, another Roger had wrote, Heal Me I’m Heartsick. It was a good song, somewhat slower, sadder than some of the other songs he did with the band, and the words were always something Mark could remember. He found himself singing quietly to himself.

“So heal me, I’m heartsick.  
Hungry, thought I could survive on you.  
Heal my heartsick hungry cries. I’m heartsick.”

He wasn’t really sure why these words resonated with him so well, they just always did. He remembered when Roger was writing the song, it was one he’d written by himself before showing the rest of the band. It was late, or early, one of the two, and Mark had woken up from a shiver. He could hear quiet guitar strums and a soft voice, and, despite being cold, he ventured out from his room. Roger was slouched across the couch with his guitar, and he was dreamily staring as he sang. He didn’t see or hear Mark, so the filmmaker had some moments to just lean against the wall and listen. When Roger did spot him, he straightened himself up instantly, apologizing for waking him up, looking as if he was somehow embarrassed at being caught. Mark explain he’d woken up anyway, and that he liked the song.

“I haven’t heard that one,” he also said.

“It’s new, that might be why.” Roger almost looked shy about it.

“Can I….hear it?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Roger’s face seemed to light up, and he shifted his body over to take up only half of the couch. Mark walked and sat down next to him, and Roger played and sang and Mark enjoyed listening to it. The song was so elegant and smooth, but was still so Roger, with that gravel clear voice that Mark knew so well and words that always held so much meaning. Roger’s voice grew with more power as he sang more into the song, becoming more comfortable. It was rare that he ever sang alone to one other person, knowing they were there to listen to him and nothing else. He was a performer, he should be great at handling this sort of stuff, but his leg kept bouncing and he had to lift his foot of the floor just to get it to stop.

But the more he sang, the more he lost himself in his lyrics and in the melody and the feeling of the song, almost forgetting Mark was there at one point, but he looked up and saw his friend’s face with a smile. A smile grew on his face, contradicting the words he sang, but he felt so much more at ease with Mark smiling fondly at him, his own arms wrapped around himself to retain as much heat as he could, only in his long sleeved shirt and boxers. Somehow the cold didn’t reach them like it normally would.

Roger finished, he still had more to write, but he was proud of the words he had; it was progress, steps forward after being stuck for quite some time. Mark was still smiling, and now suddenly Roger looked shy again, now he couldn’t hide behind the song.

“I liked it,” Mark said. He could tell that Roger was somehow expecting more than that, but he couldn’t find the words at that time to express how he felt for the song.

Now, as Mark stared up at the ceiling, he knew the words, he’d known the words for a while but never thought to tell Roger, never felt like he had the time. He had the time now, even if Roger was no longer here.

“I liked that song because it felt like I was hearing you. I was hearing your thoughts and feeling and so many things that you would normally much rather hide away. You sang it and yes, I liked the song, but it became one of my favourites because it was your song, a song you were so proud of and that represented you so clearly to me and to yourself….I miss you Roger.”

He hated how emotional he was. He hated that Roger didn’t see that before he left; he just saw somebody who didn’t care, who’d detached himself. Roger wasn’t lying when he said it, Mark had broken himself off from them, kept emotionally distant. He was so strong with his feelings that if he didn’t...he didn’t know what would’ve happened, but it wouldn’t have been good. He used to love feeling feelings, but that was before high school, when he was young and naive and happy all the time. Now, happiness came few and far between, or it did when he was alone. With others, everything seemed much more okay. It was one of the reasons he couldn’t wait long to get a new roommate. He hated the idea of being alone, having to live alone and for it to always be quiet. He’d always lived with someone, whether it be his family, Roger or Collins or Benny or Maureen, and all of them at once; he’d always had somehow to some home to.

That week without Roger was lonely. He worked all that he could, and when he got home he slept. He’d been losing weight too, having no desire to eat alone, even if he now could afford something actually edible. He’d go back to the apartment and go to bed, sleeping for a while, waking up, maybe going to Life Support if he could muster up the energy to walk through the doors. The lineup had changed a lot, people lost. Gordon’s gone, lost his battle only recently, and there was always an empty chair there; he’d attended Life Support for a long time, one of the longest. Pam too was gone, and the others took it hard too. Paul was still there, still running it all, and he always offered Mark a kind smile and a gentle hand on the shoulder whenever he came, and each time it got harder and harder for Mark to smile back. One of the hardest things about going what the fact that he was the only one without HIV. He was negative, he was clear. It wasn’t a group specifically for those with HIV, but he felt like he was intruding. They weren’t unwelcoming, but he still somehow felt unwelcome.

Then he put out that ad, hoping for a response but not hopeful. He got one, and within two days, which was good. It was weird though, having somebody else move into Roger’s room that Friday, but he was scared he wouldn’t be able to afford the rent, so he didn’t really have a choice. Even if he didn’t like the look of her, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to turn her away; he had to pay rent. It turned out well though; him and Taylor got along well. She was there for him straight away, and he found himself opening up quickly.

“Do your friends know this?” She asked once.

“No.” He fiddled with his hands. He already had been, but less absentmindedly now; he was aware as that was all he could focus on.

“Why?”

“Because...with you I have nothing to lose. If I told them, and they...didn’t understand, I’d lose people I need in my life. If you didn’t get it, I wouldn’t feel as significant of a loss. Don’t take that the wrong way, please, but….you know.”

“No, I get it. We don’t know each other loads yet, so yeah, it’s understandable.” She was very understanding from the start, and that just helped Mark open up more. They became fast friends, and he quickly came to rely on her.

He sat up now, wondering what decision led him down this path. This was not how he envisioned his life at aged twenty two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update. I know I still have chapters to go, but I'm happy with where this is going and hopefully how it end, although I haven't written that part yet. It will be cute, hopefully. I hope you like, and I know a week is a while to wait for new chapters, but it helps me keep on top of it so everything comes out consistently and all.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments please.


	4. The Sky from the Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark goes back to work. Taylor has lunch with a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an a side, the lyrics quoted in the previous chapter are from a song Hear Me I'm Heartsick by No Vacancy. The band is fictional and is from School of Rock, Dewy's previous band that eventually won battle of the bands. Adam Pascal was the lead singer and a guitarist in No Vacancy, so thought it would be a good inclusion, and I recommend listening to it properly, it's a great song.

Taylor woke up the next morning and Mark was already up and getting dressed, pulling his jumper on over his head when she rolled over. There was a towel on the floor too, and his hair was wet, sticking up in weird directions from the wool being pulled over it. He smiled and apologized for waking her.

“You’re not usually up before me,” she said, sitting up, eyes still half closed.

“Yeah...I was hoping to make you breakfast before you woke up, surprise you and all, but I guess it won’t be a surprise now.”

“You don’t need to make me breakfast Mark.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

She smiled at him, and pulled herself up from the mattress to walk over to him and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. But I need to get dressed first, and make sure you dry your hair before you go to work, you don't to catch a cold, I mean, if you are going to work, you don’t have to.”

“No, I’m going. I think I just needed a break, I should be fine now.” His smile was almost convincing, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it would if it was genuine. She let it slide, only because she knew he needed things to do, his mind went crazy when he was left alone. And if he says he’s okay, then she’ll trust his judgement. She knew there was something more, but if it becomes too much again, he will tell her.

He left to make her breakfast, and she smiled. He was a sweet guy. She dressed and washed her face; they alternated shower days to save money. She tied her hair in a bun, making a mental note to either get it cut or to cut it herself, maybe she could get Mark to cut it for her, before leaving the bedroom.

“Toast and chocolate spread was all I dare make without risk of setting something on fire, and...you know me.”

“I do know you, and you could burn anything. But thank you, greatly appreciated.” She walked behind him and leaned over his shoulders, kissing him on the cheek again, while he put the spread on the toast, leaning into the action. He smiled; he savoured these little moments of affection between them, not in a weird way, but they were so close, in such a short space of time, yet it felt so natural, to sleep in the same bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms, to sit and have dinner together, face to face, in candlelight, to share simple, small moments like little kisses and hand holding….it meant a lot to Mark to have this stability and closeness, platonic and intimate friendship.

They talked and ate before he had to leave for work, and Taylor waved him off, before finishing getting ready herself, and then leaving, locking the door behind her.

# # # # # #

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“Yes, urm….two black coffees and….one cappuccino, no, latte please.”

“Yes sir, coming right up.” Taylor began making the drinks, the next barrister moving to the counter to take the next order. The drinks were easy to sort, and worked through them quickly. This was her day, and it bored her, but it was a job, it was money in her pocket to pay the bills. She was incredibly glad when her lunch break came around. She took of her apron off, stuffing it under the counter, before leaving the establishment to get lunch.

Even in broad daylight it seems, men can be a real piece of work. Obviously, not all men, but the ones Taylor had to deal definitely were. They cat called her from across the street. This was neither new to her, though luckily was not something she often had to deal with, so she kept her head down and kept walking. They clearly didn't get the message, as they continued, now shouting things, things that should've been kept to herself. Then they crossed the road, and they followed her, walking behind her. And they were getting closer, she could tell, as their footstep got louder, like the were jumping and galloping their way to her at inconsistent rates, but closer they were getting.

She just kept walking, turning a corner, and bumping into a solid object, a person. Shit, she thought, now those stupid yuppies with catch up and she'll really have to deal with it. She backed up, apologizing to whoever she just walked into at quite a pace, but found she recognised the figure, and her body just relaxed.

“Tom, hi.” She wasn't expected to see him until later today, going out looking again.

“Hey kiddo, lunch break?”

“Yeah, how'd you know?”

“I know when you get off, remember? I was coming to meet you, see how you were doing and ask how Mark is, he didn't answer my call yesterday.”

As she went to reply, she hear them round the corner, clearly seeing her. She had her back to them, but she could tell they were there, she could feel them, feel their presence.

“Hey!” Collins shouted out of nowhere, aimed over her head, and then she turned, and saw he was shouting at the boys, “Any reason you pestering my girl here? Any reason your drooling out the sides of your mouth?” He slung and arm around her shoulder, something he did often, but under these circumstances, just confused her and caused her to tense up again.

“No, no.” One managed, blinking. Collins was intimidated, with his deep, strong, commanding tone and his towering height; only a true idiot would pick a fight with him. Clearly, these guys were at least a tiny but smarter than she thought.

“Good, so get lost.” And they all scampered away. Relief washed over her; thank god for Tom Collins.

“You just saved me from a bloody murder, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” With an arm already across her shoulder, he pulled her into him for a hug, one she returned with a smile. “Ready for lunch though?”

“Always.” They walked together the rest of the way to the Life Cafe, and took a booth towards the back like they always did when it was just the two of them, or when it was just small groups, no more than five people, with someone dragging a chair to sit at the end, much to disdain of most of the staff. But with just the two of them, it was quiet and they received no scowls from the greeter when they went and took their seats. They ordered sandwiches, Taylor determined to pay after Collins saved her, and the broke anarchist was relatively happy to oblige. Their drinks came, and they began talking, Collins asking how her day was going.

“Good, you know, the usual stuff. My boss said that I might be getting a promotion, or at least a pay rise, which will be so welcome.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“What about you? How’s NYU treating you?”

“Shit, but what more can you expect. The students don’t care, which is as infuriating as you think. Right now, I’m grading reports and they’re all just the same, all stuff I’ve seen before, nothing new and fresh and exciting.”

Their sandwiches came.

“I bet there must be great stuff up at MIT.” A teasing smile came across her lips and he kicked her under the table.

“All right, all right, I get it. So maybe, yeah, but they were the ones that expelled me.”

“You blew up their equipment. Deliberately. Just to make a point.”

“It got their attention, didn’t it?”

“Yes, and you expelled.” Even thought it was all light hearted with no hard feelings, the conversation was going nowhere. Tom just shook his head with a smile, this kid driving him up the wall in a welcomed way, but he changed the subject.

“How’s Mark? He okay?”

“Well...you know what he’s like. He’s having a difficult time at work.”

“The people?”

“A bit, yeah. But also just the work itself. He’s not happy, I can tell, and it’s really starting to affect him, but he still keeps it to himself sometimes. Like, I know there’s more going on than he’s telling me.”

“You tried asking?”

“No, not yet. I don’t want to push him; he’s usually quite willing to talk, like the other night we talked and it was fine, so if he’s not telling me something, then there’ll be a good reason why he hasn’t said anything.”

“You seem worried kiddo.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. I want what’s best, you know, even if I haven’t really known him that long.”

“You’ve known him a good few months, and you do live with him, so you probably know him as well as the rest of us do by now, if not more than some of the others. He’ll talk to you, he always does, so you should ask if you’re concerned. Look, you know the boy, so you know he needs to talk, if even he doesn’t always want to.” She nodded along, listening to his words. He had a point. She needed to talk to Mark, even if he resists at first. It will help him, so she makes a note to talk to him when she gets home after work.

# # # # # #

Mark was packing equipment into the van to go the next location. He wasn’t even needed, so he had no idea why he was sent out on this stupid….errand? Why was he even there? He was only being used as a moving man. They got there, he unpacked the equipment, he stood and watched while they filmed. He managed to film some of his own stuff, for the documentary, before he had to pack it all up again for the next shooting location.

Why?

He unpacked it, again, for the fifth time that day. They suddenly decided that he should be in something. He was supposed to be behind the camera, not in front of it, but they wanted a smoke break. He didn’t have the energy, nor authority, to argue, so stood there, mustering up all that he could, to say the few lines that were written on a board behind the camera.

“Hi, Mark Cohen here for Buzzline; back to you Alexi. Coming up next, vampire welfare queens who are compulsive bowlers.”

The camera cut, and he quickly walked away. He hated being in front of a lens. It was not where he belonged. Suddenly, it seemed to Mark, that so many things just clicked inside his head. He wasn’t happy, this wasn’t him, this wasn’t what he want to do, what he was supposed to do.

“Oh my god, what I am I doing?” No Mark, stay calm, breath, but not too much, don’t overthink this. Everything felt like it’d hit him at once. Just….focus on work, dive in, get it done. No, you can’t. His thoughts were everywhere, he had to get away. He turned, he walked, as he couldn’t stand to be there anymore. Someone called out, shouting his name, asking where he was going, but he just kept walking.

He can’t let his mind run away from him now.The job wasn’t for him, and he’d known that form the beginning, but he needed money. This is America, after all. But he’d been taught, even if only recently it feels, that his passion, his happiness, is most important. He could find another job, he could figure out something, but he couldn’t continue with this job anymore. Sometimes, it felt like he was drowning; he had to hold on.

As he walked around the streets of New York, he clenched his jaw, not realising he was doing it, until his face began to ache, and he had to relax. He stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk, a few people knocking into him, cursing, then going about their day. These feelings, too much, why...he shook his head, hoping to clear his mind, but he couldn’t. 

He replays that fight in his head. Roger storming out of the room, the words exchanged between them, everything he’d felt that night, during and after. He’d cried himself to sleep that night. Roger had left, his closest friend, someone who’d know him for years. Mark had always been there, and suddenly Roger wasn’t, and Mark was supposed to just be okay, to just deal with it with a smile. He’d always had to smile around the apartment because of Roger, but without him, why bother smile, why bother fake being happy when it was just him, alone and cold. What was it about that night? What were they really even arguing over?

He could hear her voice, telling him that he just needed to be happy. How he missed Angel, but she would understand, she always believed in him. Then more pieces fell into place, he could see it, his film, how it was meant to be, how it should end.

He started walking again, passing a pay phone on his way. This was ideal. He fished around in his pockets, pulling out the few coins he had lose. He had enough. He filed them in, pushing them through the slots. He dialed and it rang. She picked up.

“Hello?”

“Alexi, it’s Mark.” He would not allow her to get a word in, to even allow her to try and guilt him into staying, like how she guilted him into going out today anyway. “Call me a hypocrite; I quit.” He slammed the phone against the cradle hook, and he felt good, like a weight was gone, as cliche as it sounded. Despite putting the phone down, his hand remained wrapped around the receiver for a while, just staring at it. A smile grew on his face when he realised what he did. It felt right.

His hand dropped and he continued to walk. He was going home, he decided, but first, he had to see it from above, to see New York City from the roof of his stupidity old and dilapidated building, because who knows, maybe he’d have to move without a job.

He reached his apartment building, and he walked up the stairs. His footstep echoes through the large stairwell. He threw his bag into the apartment on the way up, not staying any time, and heading straight up to the roof. It’d been awhile since he’d been up their on his own. He used to go up a lot with Roger; he used to hide up there, searching the sky for inspiration, and Mark would go searching for him at any hour, sometimes during the day, sometimes the evening. There were occasion times, when the weather was far less harsh, that Roger would be up there until late and early hours, and Mark would wake up and have to go get him. He was nearly always sat in a cheap fold-up chair that he kept on the roof, bought at a gas station years ago. Mark would sit with him sometimes, just for company, or maybe for hope of inspiration himself.

Mark struggled to open the roof door, the push lock mechanism old and stiff, but he forced it open, the hinges squeaking in resistance. It was still very cold out, like for six months out of the year in New York, and he could see the vapur pour from his mouth when he breathed. New York is beautiful, he thought, as he looked over the sitting, standing at the edge of the roof, looking over the ledge with his hands on the raised concrete.

His mind was clouding over again. What this really the right thing to do? It was too late now anyway, he'd quit, he was free of Buzzline for good. He could focus on the documentary and get it done and it'll be perfect. But what if Taylor didn't like his decision? What if she decided to leave because he quit his job? She'd be supporting both of them, she doesn't need that. She might want to leave, find a roommate who can at least pay their half of the rent. Maybe she'd understand, but what if she didn't? He can't be alone again.

“I can't be alone again.”

Mark could feel eyes watching. Someone must've come up to the roof, and he'd been so in his own head that he hasn't heard the door or the footsteps of another sound they'd made. Must be Taylor, he thought, but he turned and looked, and there stood Roger.

Roger. Roger was stood right there, a crooked smile on his face. His stupid leather jacket over his stupid denim jacket and his worn down jeans and boots. His long shot and stubble and his eyes and all of him was there.

“You're not alone.” The first words Mark had heard from Roger in a while. Roger had called in the first month, but had been radio silent for too long, so it was a relief to hear his voice, to know he's okay, and he's alive and well. Mark wasn't sure he'd ever see his friend again. But there he was, stood in front of him, almost like he'd never left.

Mark just stood there, looking at Roger, still not quite believing what he was seeing. He was back. Mark’s feet finally kicked into gear, bringing him forward, and they embraced, Mark’s body hitting Roger’s more forcefully than necessary but neither cared. They’d missed each other.

Roger had only taken a step forward before his arms were around Mark. It felt good to be back with his friend, to see him again and to know that he was well, that he was doing good. He hadn’t just come back for Mimi, but for Mark too, all his friends. Mark had always been there for him, through the withdrawal and losing April and when he didn’t know how to go about his feelings for Mimi...he was a good friend.

They pulled away. “It’s nice to see you Mark.”

“Yeah, nice to see you too. It’s...been a while.”

“Too long, and I’m sorry.”

Mark just nodded his head. He knew Roger was sorry. He didn’t see it at first, but he eventually came to realise that it couldn’t of been easy for Roger to walk out on everything like that, to up and go in one day, the day of a close friend’s funeral. Mark was pretty sure Roger’d been thinking about leaving for a while, to get away and have a break, but it was losing Angel that pushed him into making that choice, to sell his dear guitar to buy a cheap, run down car and to just drive away. It took Mark a little while to understand that, maybe longer than it should of, but he understood now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh DUUHHHHH! He's back! Not really a plot twist, you knew it was coming, but finally Roger is back and getting involved. I'm really enjoying this still, so please, please, comment. It gives me the best feeling when people comment on my writing and...I don't know, it just feels nice to know people like what I'm doing, especially with the Rent-head fandom as there are fewer and fewer around it seems.
> 
> Comments do make my day! ^_^


	5. Tension Underfoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor finally meets Roger after hearing so much about him for the past months. She won't let that sway her opinion of him.

Taylor was so glad to be finishing her shift at the coffee shop, and she could now finally go home and relax and eat food and listen to some music. She was ready to just sleep though too, but she wanted to, as well as needed to, talk to Mark, make sure he was okay, ask how work was, if it was any better after having a day break.

She walked up the stairs and entered the apartment to the sounds of voices and laughter. Sat on the couch opposite the door, was Mark and another man with a worn down leather jacket and longish hair. They didn't seem to hear her enter until she closed the door, drawing their attention. Mark stood with a smile and walked over to her.

“Hey,” he said, embracing her, “How was work?”

“Oh, you know, the usual, nothing too exciting, but I did have a nice lunch with Tom, and he saved me from some creeps.”

“Oh god, are you okay? Good old Collins coming through again."

“Yeah, I'm fine, they never touched me. How was work for you?”

“Urm...you know, same old. People still not great.” He decided that he'd tell her about his job when it was just them, and he could sit down with her and explain it all. Hopefully, she'd understand.

She continued to look at him, and raising her eyebrows. Mark got the hint quicker than he normally did. “Oh yeah, sorry. Taylor, this is Roger, my old roommate” who stood and walked over, hand out and she shook it, “Roger, this is Taylor, my, urm, current roommate.” He had yet to tell Roger he was living with someone else.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Taylor said, “Mark speaks fondly of you.”

“Ah, I'm glad to hear. I've only just gotten back, and I've been talking nearly none stop, hadn't really let him get a word in to tell me about you.”

She chuckles. She had indeed hear much about this Roger Davis, ex junkie, ex rocker, ex roommate guy. Mark had explained who he was, that they met when he moved to New York City and he was Mark’s first real friend. He had briefly explained Roger’s drug fueled past, spoke a little of April, and mentioned his HIV. She did not judge him for this. However, she did judge him for leaving Mark here alone.

Since she'd know the struggling filmmaker for a decent amount of time now, she knew he was a reliant person, that he needed people around him, as much as he liked to play the strong, independent one, the shoulder to cry on, when in fact he was just as scared and as vulnerable as the rest. He was scared of being alone and being lonely, and his best friend up and felt him. She knew things weren't that black and white, but it felt like it sometimes. He should not of left Make alone. She’d dealt with the fault out, along with Tom and Maureen and Joanne, Mimi briefly too. But she lived with him, saw him every day for hours, so she was there when he needed someone to talk to, and later, to cry on or to curl up to or to just have someone there. no matter the time, she was there. She didn't like Roger much, but he was important to Mark, so she'd play nice until he gave her a reason not to.

They went to sit down, Taylor getting a drink from the kitchen first before sitting in a chair, with the boys sitting together on the couch. She sat and listened mainly, allowing them to talk and catch up. Then Roger asked about Mimi.

“I haven't seen her since I got back, how is she?”

Mark looked over to Taylor for help, but she didn't know how she was supposed to help, so she just shrugged, eyebrows brought together.

“Roger,” he began, “Mimi’s gone missing. She went to rehab for a while, and she was doing well, then suddenly she checked herself out, and...we just haven't hear from her since. She hasn't come back home either, and we've all been out nearly every night looking for her. Even Benny comes sometimes.”

Taylor was looking at Roger’s back, but his entire posture changed; he slumped over, his hands dropping from his lap to his side. He was still very suddenly. Then, he spoke.

“I'm going to help look. I'll come out with you tonight.”

Mark nodded, the looked over to Taylor as if to see if was okay with her.

“The more help the better,” she said, and Roger turned to he could see her. “We usually meet up outside the Life Cafe, then split off to look.” He nodded along, a fond and thinking smile on his face.

# # # # # #

They walked together to Life. Mark and Roger walked a few paces ahead of her, talking. She was glad to see Make so happy, it seemed almost like Roger had never left, the way she’d imagined him before she knew him. Collins was already there at Life when they got there, like most nights, and when she rounded the corner, Tom and Roger were in a tight embrace.

“It's so good to see you again boy,” Collins said, though it was muffled by speaking into Roger’s leather. Roger was returning the hug with as much enthusiasm, and the embraced lasted long, and it made ever smile; Mark wasn't the only one that suffered without Roger, she forgot that sometimes. It was good to be reminded. When they pulled apart he hugged Mark, then her.

“I'm glad we’re all here,” he said. Joanne and Maureen appeared then signalled by Maureen's squeal and heeled running towards Roger, Collins had to swerve out of the way to avoid being bowled over. Tom pulled Taylor aside while the girls were talking and hugging with Roger and Mark.

“How you doing kiddo?”

“Good. It's great seeing Mark like this, you know, all happy and...almost giddy, I guess.”

“I though tonight, since suddenly Roger’s back, that you and me head out, just the two of us, let Mark and Roger go out and spend some time together, you know, if that's cool with you.”

“Yeah, of course.” She smiled. Besides Mark, she was closest with Tom. She got along with Maureen okay, and Joanne a bit better still, but she didn't connect with them the same way she did with Tom or Mark. Collins was one of those people that held knowledge far beyond his years, giving wise words of advice at only twenty nine, which she was sure would hold up against time.

He’d been through a lot with Angel, and though she'd never had the joy of meeting the young queen herself, Collins told such wonderful stories of her. A fond memory for Taylor was a day when her and Make had got to Collins’ apartment, to make sure he was okay. They got a bit tipsy, closer to drunk, and they'd sat of the floor, each with at least one blanket and pillow. Tom told stories of Angel, and despite the funeral being only in the near past, he smile when he talked of her. There was tears, yes, but not sobs, happy tears and laughing tears. Tom had held so much pride in his voice when he spoke of his lover, and it was clear to Taylor how deep their relationship went.

He was also one to be there for her when she didn't even know she needed someone. Mark was the same, but Tom seemed to almost be somehow spontaneous about it, just appearing some days out of nowhere to talk, and she'd often get a heavy weight off her chest. She was ever slightly concerned as to why Tom had asked for them to do searching alone tonight; he clearly thought something might be up with her, and maybe there was, and she just didn't know it yet.

# # # # # #

“So, you've got a roommate?” Roger asked within five minutes of being broken away from the pack.

“Urm, yeah. She's really nice, you should get to know her.”

“How long you two been living together?” To Mark, it felt like a casual interrogation, but he had no reason not to answer Roger’s questions, though he was sure it must've appeared that way. He felt bad that he'd gotten another roommate, especially so quickly after, as if he should've known Roger would be back, they'd pick right back up from where they’d left off. He hadn't known that, of course he hasn't, he thought he'd lost his best friend for good, well before either of their times.

“She's been here for...a few months.”

“How long after I left? Did she ever meet Mimi?”

“Yeah, she met Mimi. They got along pretty okay, both quite affectionate and kind people, but Mimi was in rehab at the time, and Taylor didn't really know any of us when they first met.” Mark knew he hadn't answered the first question and he was hopeful that Roger hadn't noticed, but he had, of course he had.

“When was that?” It was disguised as a different question, but the information Roger wanted to know was the same.

“Oh, urm...I don't know, I don't remember the exact date.”

“This month? Last month? The month before?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what?”

“The month before.” Roger nodded, and the sudden lack of voice caused something to twist inside Mark. He'd always hated when Roger went quiet in the middle of a conversation, usually mean that he'd lost some form of argument with the song writer that he didn't even know he was having; it was his interpretation of the ‘I'm not angry, just disappointed’ saying.

# # # # # #

Tom and Taylor walked together, chatting casually about whatever. They'd found themselves on topics such as ‘which is the best cheese’ and ‘do pigeons fall in love’ on precious nights of casting about New York City. As they searched this night, they talked more sullenly about life in general, but they were interrupted when they ran into Benny.

“Hi,” he said, as they approaches each other, causing them to really pay attention their surroundings, opposed to just looking down alleyways and doorways.

“Hi Benny,” said Tom.

“Hey,” Taylor replied.

“You out looking too?”

“Yeah, we are. Roger’s back in town by the way, didn't know if you already somehow knew. He's off with Mark now looking, thought I'd walk with just Taylor this time.”

“Be careful, there's some dodgy people out tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said. She did hug him before they parted ways, and Collins shook his hand, and then they continued their search. She'd never really known Benny when he was an asshole, but she knew of what he did, evicting them and shutting off power and all that, but since Mimi went missing, he'd been a lot nicer, or so she was told. They probably saw Benny once a week in passing at least, sometimes more. He was okay, but she definitely didn't know him well enough to call him a friend.

They continued walking and looking, hoping for something, anything, but nothing by the time Taylor’s hands were completely.

“Kiddo, I wanted to talk to you, make sure you were okay?” Collins said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I had a feeling, but I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?”

“Well, you know, Roger’s back, so…” He trailed off as if expecting Taylor to be able to fill in the rest of the sentence on her own.

“So?” She didn't understand what he was trying to get at.

“So, I was just wondering if you were cool with that.” She turned to look at him, who’d fallen a step behind. He shrugged his shoulders in an innocent manner, and she just chuckled. She walked to a bin and deposited a handful of receipts she’d found in her pocket, and when Taylor turned, Collins had stopped walked, leaning on a wall, almost sitting, keeping himself propped up. She walked over, and watched, as she hauled herself onto the wall; she placed her hands on the wall behind her, braced herself then jumped, pushing up. She sat on the brick comfortably, her feet not particularly close to the floor.

“I’m cool with it Tom,” she said, looking at him with a sideways glance. He did not look convinced.

“I’m not implying anything, I’m just saying that...how can I put this, that, urm, you’ve had him to yourself for a while and now you have to share with Roger.” She looked at him with a bit more heat this time.

“I don’t own Mark, you know.”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean, you know what I mean. You two have such a good, strong bond, and I’ve only ever seen three people you included, to have that strong of a bond with him.”

“Roger and?”

“Maureen.”

“Oh yeah, forgot about that. It still seems so strange to me to imagine Maureen in such a long term relationship.”

“Her and Joanne have been together for quite a while, over a year.”

“On and off, yeah. When I first met them they weren’t together, remember? Maureen just always seems so flirty, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s how she is. And I see you changing the topic; it’s not working.”

Taylor chucked, “Well it was working for a little while.” He continued to look at her, waiting for her to continue, and she’d found in the past that she was unable to lie to him. “Okay, look, I do get what you mean. I’m not...upset, or jealous, but...yeah, I guess you did make a point. I guess...I am used to being the person he comes home to, like, the person he talks to because he does see my for a good chunk of the day, so I will be weird to suddenly have someone else there, but it’s not like Roger isn’t allowed be there for Mark like he was before.”

“You scared he’ll forget you?” She smiled ever slightly, but it dropped quickly; Tom always seemed to know what was in her head before she could say anything.

“Not scared exactly, but I guess. I’ve heard from you guys how close the two of them were, and I’ve heard so many things from Mark himself, so it would make sense that, you know, Mark wouldn’t need to spend as much time with me.”

“He won’t forget you. Yeah, Roger’s back and he’ll want to spend time with him, but he’s not going to forget you’re there; you’re his best friend.”

“Roger’s his best friend.”

Tom shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder as she looked at him. “Different kinds of friends. He had a different closeness with Roger than he has with you. I never saw Mark just casually kiss Roger on the cheek, or fall asleep together on the couch and then have one of them fall off because that couch is not made for two to sleep on.” She chuckled, thinking back to that time he was referencing; her and Mark had fallen asleep on the couch together, one of her arms draped across his stomach as she lay with her back pressed against the back couch cushions, and her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. They’d been talking, before they fell into comfortable silence, and eventually to sleep. Somehow, in her sleep, she pushed, and he fell off the couch, waking up the both of them with the sudden sound and contact with the floorboards. They’d laughed for quite some time after, and she’d told Collins, who also laughed for some time. “The two of you will be fine.”

# # # # # #

Taylor got home later than she expected she would. Her and Tom had looked through nearly the entire city it seemed, and they still came up with nothing. The people in the first floor apartment were fighting again, she could hear the shouting through the door. She’d tried to intervene once, just to ask if they were okay, and they’d turned their anger on her, so she knows not to even think about knocking to make sure everything was alright.

The door was unlocked, so she walked in and saw Mark’s corduroy coat and scarf laying across the back of the couch, and Roger’s leather on top, but she couldn’t see them in the main room. She locked the door, before taking her coat off and dumping it on the chair in a wad. Poking her head into Mark’s room, the only place she thought they might be, she found them both fast asleep, still dressed and on top of the duvet. Roger was laying on his back, mouth open, quiet snores emanating, and limbs stretched out. Mark was the opposite, facing towards Roger, curled on his side, quiet and his arms and legs pulled into his body. His glasses were next to him, between the two of them. Taylor fondly smiled at them sleepings so peacefully.

She stepped in, avoiding the squeaky floorboards, the positions she’d memorized, and she gently pulled out the blanket that only their feet rest upon; she made a note that they should probably make sure they make the bed properly, instead of only pulling back the duvet and leaving twisted lumps of blankets at the foot. Draping the blanket across them, Mark stirred ever slightly, but remained asleep, and she took his glasses, moving them to a safer location.

On the way out, she picked up her sleeping shirt, and went to her own room. She realised, as she changed for bed, how weird it was to be back in her room. She spent time in there, but she knew it was never to sleep, so to be back in her own room and to be sleeping alone just felt weird. She pondered on Tom’s words a little, and her own; she was worried about losing Mark, but she believed Tom knew what he was talking about. Mark won’t forget her, she believes, she hopes.

She finished getting ready for bed before sliding in, getting comfy under the duvet. She didn’t have blankets anymore, as she moved them all to Mark’s room as she spent most nights there, so the weight of the duvet felt light against her. But the weirdest thing was being alone, not having someone else there. She was so used to Mark’s presence next to hers, whether they were tangled together or not, whether they were talking or not, or looking at each other or at the walls, she always just knew he was there, and as she lay in bed, she knew he wasn’t.

It took her longer than usual to drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on making this about 10/11 chapters long, and then possibly a epilogue too, because I have some cute, domestic ideas for after, but I'm still not sure.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this update. Let me know what you think.


	6. Jumpers to Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without work, Mark has time to spend with Roger. At least those two get along; Roger and Taylor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any mistakes. I don't have a beta reader so very sorry for mistypes and spelling/grammar errors.

Mark woke up the next morning earlier than usual, which really threw him off. It also threw him off when he did not wake up next to Taylor, but instead Roger, who’d half fallen off the mattress. He sat up, a blanket flopping down off his torso to his lap. He didn’t remember going to sleep with a blanket on...hmm, he thought. But he got out of bed, not worrying about waking the heavy sleeper that is Roger Davis, and he wandered out. He didn’t see Taylor up, he must be up early. Their routine consisted of her waking up first, getting ready and cooking breakfast and sorting the apartment our in general. She was nearly always up at least thirty minutes before him, but often closer to an hour. He’d get up, usually after she’d holler at him from the other room, and he’d get ready, eat breakfast, then head out. She’d leave shortly after him, but he always got home from work first.

I guess that will change now, he thought, since I’m unemployed. I’m going to have to get another job...shit.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d be doing today. He didn’t want to go to Life Support, but he knew there was a meeting, he knew all the times. Roger might want to go, but he doubted that. Maybe he’d go see Collins, he was sure Roger would like to spend some time with him since he didn’t get to see him much last night. He’ll wait around until Roger wakes up and ask him what he’d want to do. Maybe Roger just wants to be left alone for the day, to acclimatize back to New York City.

# # # # # #

Taylor woke up late. She didn’t realise at first, the first thing she noticed being the walls of her own bedroom and her own bed sheets against her. She didn’t feel like moving, not that she often did when she was warm in bed and knowing that if she left said bed she would freeze, however, when she rolled over and saw the time blinking at her in red, and she saw that she’d slept an extra forty minutes, she bolted up and out of bed. She didn’t have time to shower, but knew she could get away with putting it off for a day, and she dressed as quickly as she could. She left her bedroom and found Mark sat on the couch reading a book, feet up across the cushions, but he looked up when he saw her come in.

“Mark, shouldn’t you….be at work?” Her frantic movements stopped as she looked at him and he looked at her. He set the book down, looking somewhat nervous as he shifted to sit at the edge of the couch.

“I, urm, was meant to talk to you last night, but I never got the chance, you know, with Roger coming back so unexpectedly.” Mark didn’t look at her when he spoke, looking at the coffee table or the floor or his hands, as he waved them around while he spoke, “I...I, urm,” he stuttered, trying to find the words that would somehow lessen the anger she’d throw his way, but he couldn’t find any other way to put in, “I quit my job.”

He looked up to try and judge, to gauge her reaction, but she looked distant, like she was trying to absorb the information, not that there was much information to absorb. But he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, which readly did scare him. She was never easy to read, not like Roger was, but he usually had an idea of what was floating around her head. He didn’t this time, and it scared him.

“Say something,” Mark pleaded, his voice quieter than usual, “Anything, please, anything at all.”

“Okay,” was the first word she said.

“O-okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I mean,” and she turned to look at him, “You had a reason to quit, didn’t you?”

“Depends on what you define as a reason.”

She walked over to him, and sat down next to him. She sat at an angle, while he kept his body facing ahead, until she took his hands in hers and forced him to look at her. “Mark, you weren’t happy, you told me that yourself, that they didn’t treat you with the respect you deserve, so you had every right to quit.” He shifted in place. “I’m not angry, or upset, or...distraught because I know you like those fancy adjectives. I’m happy if you’re happy. If you think you made the right decision, that’s what matters.”

“But what if I haven’t? What if I’ve fucked up once again? Me, Mark Cohen, the walking mistake-”

“Hey! Don’t say that. Ever.” Her voice was loud then dropped significantly in volume after the first word, becoming softer, calmer, but still heating, concerned, emotional. He saw he eyes well up ever slightly. “You’re not a mistake. You’re a brilliant artist who so often cold, and often broke and sometimes hungry, but it’s okay because that’s life. Life was given to you, whether you think it was God or your parents, or whoever, or whatever, but you have life, and that isn’t a mistake. I promise you Mark, you are not a mistake,. You’re not a fuck-up, or a mishap or anything like that. You are my friend, my best friend.” She held his hands, still clasped in hers, to her chest, to her heart. “Mark-”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, but please don’t say it again.” He nodded, pulling her closing with his hands wrapped in hers, and their heads rested against each others shoulders. It wasn’t a hug, their hands remained to together in their laps, but they rested against each other in comfort. Mark pulled away first, looking up at her with a smile that quickly turned to confusion.

“Shouldn't you be at work?”

“Yes!” She suddenly remembered why she was rushing about to begin with, and she jumped up, dropping Mark’s hands and dashing to the front door, turning back when she’d realised she'd forgotten a coat and her bag.

“What are you doing today?” Taylor asked as she pulled an arm through its respective sleeve.

“Not sure, was waiting for Roger before I make any plans, see what he wants to do.”

“Alright, well, I'll see you when I get in. Want anything picking up?”

“No, I'm fine. And if I need anything, I can go out and get it, not like I've got much else to do.”

She chuckled, but nodded, picking up her bag and swinging it onto her shoulder. She bid him a farewell and headed down the stairs, out to work.

# # # # # #

Roger got up close to noon. He never had a reason to get up early, with no job to go to, really messed up sleep schedules. He’d woken up in Mark’s room, on a mattress on a floor, and it took him a few moments to remember the night before; they'd gone out, went looking for Mimi but found nothing, and came back. It was late, they were both tired but they sat and talked. They must've fallen asleep, Roger realised.

He got up, still dressed in his clothes from the day before, and slinked his way into the living room. Mark was sat with a book, curled into the corner of the couch, his knees up and feet tucked in.

“Afternoon,” Mark said, only briefly looking up from his book as Roger made his way to the fridge, but stopped when his eyes caught the coffee machine.

“When did we get that?”

Mark followed Roger’s gaze, landing on the brewing pot. “Taylor brought it when she moved in, she had it at her old place.”

“Where about she used to live? This thing’s nice.”

“Urm, I'm not sure exactly. I know she used to live in a better part of the city.”

“No gidding. She’s got money, what she doing in this dump?”

“Well, currently, she's, urm, helping pay rent. Or, I suppose since I'm unemployed again, she’s paying all the rent.” It only seemed to dawn on him now, that without him working, he was living there for free, that she was supporting him financially. It was basically her apartment then, and he was just a freeloader….oh. He should probably get another job soon, if he can stomach it.

Roger takes a mug from the cupboard and looks at it.

“She bring this with her too?” Mark looks back up to see the mug he was holding, it was a large, straight mug painted white with thick, black-lined figures is red, blue and green in odd positions and poses.

“No, she bought me that after she moved. She, urm, dropped a mug while washing up one time and she felt bad because it was that blue mug I used to always use, remember?” Roger nodded, knowing the exact mug because Mark would always use it when he could. “Well, yeah, she broke it by accident and bought me that as a replacement. Cool, don't you think? Look at the bottom.”

Roger turned up the mug, looking at the base. Written, in black marker pen, were the words ‘Mark Cohen’s mug only’, and a smiley face above the ‘n’ of his name. When Roger looked back to the filmmaker, he'd returned to his book, it as if sensing Roger’s gaze, he turned back.

“It's nice, right?”

“Yeah, real nice. She buy you other stuff too?” He puts the mug back in the cupboard before pulling out another one, one he recognised from his time living here.

“Urm...I don't think-oh no, she did buy me a new jumper, this dark green and navy one, I'll have to show you.” He gets up, setting his book on the table, and goes to his room, reemerging seconds later, holding a jumped up by the shoulder. It was predominantly navy with green cuffs, collar and hem, and a think green stripe along the abdomen.

“It's very you Mark.” He turned back to pour himself a coffee.

“Aha, yeah, it is, isn't it? She did a good job picking it out.” He puts it back, before wandering over to his spot on the couch again, picking up bus book, but not opening. “Any plans for today?” He asked.

“Going out, looking for Mimi.”

“You want company?” Mark wanted to spent time with him, especially after not seeing him for months.

“No, I'm going on my own.” He takes a strong gulp of the black coffee. His face winced slightly, it was more bitter than he was used to. Better coffee, he assumed, as he scanned across the counter to find the super and spoon some in.

“Oh, o-okay. Well, I wish you luck.”

“Yeah well, I'm not going yet. I'm gonna use the shower, go after that.” Mark nodded, but Roger didn't pay too much attention as he walked to Mark’s room, grabbed fresh clothes and then entering the bathroom, still drinking his coffee.

# # # # # #

She finished at her usual time and started heading home. The day had been uneventful, with more boring customers and people complaining about their drinks, saying the tea was over brewed, or the coffee too hot...Coffee’s supposed to be hot, you moron, she mumbled at one point, to some business man who was too far up his own ass. He didn't hear, which was probably for the better.

Taylor made her way home, it already dark, like usual. She stuck to taking the well lit roads when it was dark, which took her a little longer, but she didn't mind as long as it meant she was safer.

When she arrive back home all in one piece, she found Roger slumped in a chair with his feet on the coffee table, and with a guitar across his body.

“Hey,” she called, closing the door and hanging up her coat.

“Hi,” he responded. He was quiet picking away at notes on the stringer, pulling together some melody she didn't know. Maybe it was his own, something he'd written a long time ago, or maybe it was something new. Maybe it was just a well known song she didn't know so well.

“How’s your day been?”

He shrugged, sitting up and setting his guitar to the side. “Standard, you?” He takes a tip of coffee.

“Yeah, same here, glad to be home.”

“Nice coffee by the way.”

“Oh yeah, thanks. It's one thing I can't live without, so I try not to skimp on it too much. That the same pot from this morning?”

“No, I made more.”

She nodded her head, walking over and feeling the pot. It was still warm, so she fished around for her favourite mug; it had a figures head with hollow three pronged crown above. On the bottom, in black marker, it said ‘Taylor Murphy’s mug only’, with a little star under the ‘T’. She poured a drink, stirring in milk and sugar. Despite working in a coffee shop, she could not get enough.

She set the mug down before going into her room and retrieving a small notebook she used for sketching, and a pencil, and sat in the corner of the couch, the corner away from Roger, giving him plenty of space. He picked up his guitar again, and started strumming, speaking words quietly under his breath, too quite for her to hear fully, to know the words and phrases and sentences being formed, but it was welcomed noise as she sat and drew.

After a while however, Roger’s playing abruptly stopped. She might not of noticed, except his palm made a sudden contact with the strings, muting them instantly and with a thud as his fingers hit the wood. She looked up as he was sitting up, setting his guitar to the side.

“So, how long you been living here?”

“Urm...early-mid November-ish probably.”

“I only moved out the end of October.”

“Yeah, he told me. He speaks a lot of you.”

“Did he say why he was getting another roommate so quickly?”

“Not...particularly no, just that he needed to be able to pay the rent and he was concerned he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own.”

“I didn’t pay rent and we managed just fine before.”

“What can I say, that’s all he really told me, sorry.” She got the feelings that this wasn’t the conversation over. It felt almost like an interrogation to her, even if they only exchanged a few words, but his general tone, hard and unmoving, clearly not amused, showed her that he wasn’t done asking questions. She’d answer some, but it’s not like she owed him anything, she didn’t owe him an explanation, and nor did Mark.

“So, you’ve been here for a good few months?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’d say you’re close with Mark?”

“I’d say so, and I’d like to say he’d agree.”

“Because...I thought I heard you two talking this morning, and you didn’t know he’d quit his job.”

“Yeah, I didn’t, no. He said he didn’t have time to tell me yesterday, you know, with you coming back. You took up all his attention for the rest of the day.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“Jealous? Of you? I assure you, no.”

“What’s so wrong with me?”

“Nothing's wrong with you, I just have no reason to be jealous.” Jealous, no. Scared...maybe a little. After dwelling on Tom’s words from the night before, she’d really started putting things into perspective. With Roger back, and Mark being a creature of simple habit, he’ll probably want to fall back into step with his old buddie band rocker. It makes sense. She’s lost people, a person, and if she could have them back, for just a day or the rest of her life, then she wouldn’t leave them alone, so she’d understand if Mark kind of forgot about her. It didn’t make the feeling of abandonment any less easy.

Taylor turned her attention back to the notebook in her hand, but she heard an airy huff, a snort, coming from Roger which drew her eyes back up.

“Can I help you, Mr Davis?”

“Nah, just finding it funny what a lie that last sentence was.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your body language gives it all away; you’re quite easy to read, you know that.”

“Mark’s told me, not that it’s any of your concern what he’s told me, you know, since you’ve been away for three months.” He shut up then, but at this point, it was too far gone in her mind to come back up clear, to not argue now, especially when he clearly wanted to start something moments ago. “For someone who a minute ago was questioning my friendship with Mark, I could really question yours. You left.” Roger stood, walking away, taking his mug to the coffee maker.

“I had to leave.”

“No, you had to run away.” She stood now too, clearly knowing this was getting heated whether she liked it or not. “You seem to make out that you and Mark knew all there was to know about each other, and maybe you knew a lot, enough, nobody knows everything, but you should at least know one if his biggest fears.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Fear of being alone, of being lonely, of being the last one left and seeing everyone around him leave him. And you got up and left, leaving him here, what sort of friend does that?” Both their voices were raised, angry and frustrated.

“I knew I had to leave!”

“And why did you have to leave? Because you were scared? How do you think he left? He’s had to come to terms with losing you anyway, so to lose you before he had to hurt him. It hurt him and I dealt with the fall out, I saw him after you left, so did the others, and they all know the state he was in, so don’t you dare question my friendship, my loyalty, to him.”

“You don’t know the whole goddamn picture, do you? You just hear what you want to hear, you-”

The apartment door opened, the sliding sound distinctive, and both their heads snapped across to the direction of the door. It was Mark, coming in with a brown paper bag in his hand and a worried and confused expression on his face.

“Is...everything okay? I could hear shouting all up the stairs.”

“Fine,” Taylor replied, and Roger scoffed again; she was getting real sick of the stupid sound. She looked at him, and decided she’d had enough. “I’m leaving.” She walked around the couch, toward Mark and the still open door, grabbing her jacket and putting it on.

“Weren't you just lecturing me about leaving people? What are you doing now?”

“You know what, go fuck yourself.” She only turned back to shout at him.

“Wait, Taylor, what’s going on?” Mark hesitated with his words ever slightly, but she didn’t fully registers who was speaking and what was being said, but she knew enough of who was speaking to use a name in reply.

“Shut up Cohen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really close to finishing this up, writing it I mean, there's still quite a few left to post. I'm writing chapter 11 at the moment, then the epilogue, and then I'm done. It's so strange to nearly be finished with this.
> 
> Update on the epilogue business: I've decided to write two, a happy one and a sad one. I'll let you, the dear readers, decide which one get posted, or I'll at least take that into mind on which to post first. I'll probably put up both eventually, but who knows, aha.
> 
> Comment what you think is going to happen, and how you thing the epilogues will go!


	7. The Steps Outside the Ryder Community Centre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have time to think in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY MAY DAY TO THOSE IN ENGLAND/UK AND ANYONE ONE ELSE WHO CELEBRATES IT! It's not a particularly special holiday, just an extra day off for me, extended weekend, but I wanted to surprise you and give you two chapters this week. You heard me, TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE WEEK. You're welcome, aha. I do hope you enjoy.

The sound of the slammed door floated around the apartment and rang through Mark’s ears. He just stared, stared at where she’d been, where she’d shouted at him, called him by his last name, then where she stormed out. She never called him by his last name.

“Mark, are you-”

“She...she never calls me that.” He was dazed, just looking but not seeing anything. Still tranced, he walked to the kitchen, placing the shopping bag on the counter, before wandering to his room, not saying another word to Roger, who just stood and watched it unfold.

“Mark,” Roger called, turning and walking to his friend’s room. He turned the handle to open the door, expecting it to open, but instead his shoulder just came in contact with the wood. He tried again but it would not open; it was locked. “Hey, open up,” but Roger heard no sound from the otherside, no movement to even attempt to unlock the door. Mark was not someone who locked door, excluding the main apartment door, but his room was always unlocked, or it always had been when Roger was around. He didn’t know what to do, so he just walked away and sat back on the couch, strumming his guitar. He was sure Mark would come out in an hour, at most, and he'd act like nothing happened and nothing was wrong, and everything would be alright again.

Mark took deep breaths on the other side of the door. He’d felt Roger try to open the door, as he leant against it, focusing on keeping calm and steady. He was being dramatic, a good part of him knew that, however the other part of him was thinking about what they were arguing about and he was sure it was him. Had he said something? Done something? He hoped not, but he was doubtful. He wasn’t an argumentative person, and, whether it be related or not, people didn’t argue about him. If he’d done something, he wanted to know. But not then. He took off his scarf, his gloves, his coat, dumping them all on the floor. He kicked off his shoes and walked to his bed, his mattress on the floor, and sat down, then laid down on his side, staring at the wall.

A knot had formed in his stomach since Taylor called him by his surname. She’d done it once before, when she was having a rough day and he was being an ass, and she’d shouted. He wanted her to go out and buy something for dinner. She said she didn’t feel like it, that she just wanted to have a shower and go to bed, she’d only just gotten in, but he was feeling lazy and he didn’t want to have to go back out. He kept trying to convince her to go, and she got frustrated. Looking back, Mark thought it was a pretty stupid reason to get into an argument, but she was having a rough day and he was being an ass. Shouting and words flying, she screeched out:

“Why can’t you just understand it Cohen?!”

And his face dropped. So did her’s, realising the effect the words had on him. She dropped her gaze, drawing a hand down her face, feeling worse than before for making him feel bad. They quickly made up, they talked, explained, and it was sorted, everything clear between them after such a brief yet heated fight.

So as he stared at his bedroom wall...their bedroom wall, he felt that terrible feeling growing inside of him again. He wasn’t tired, but he wanted to be alone, that’s why he locked his door.

# # # # # #

Walking around the dark streets of NYC allowed her to breathe and think. She knew she’d made a mistake the moment the words, the word, the name, had left her mouth, but she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t turn back the instant she slammed the door, say sorry, then storm our again, but she also couldn’t’ve walked for an hour then go back; she needed to cool off before she went back, or she may say something else, something she would really regret.

Mark was a strong guy, she knew that, but he also was an over thinker, someone who worried about the little things and forgot there was a bigger picture to look at. She snapped at him, she shouldn’t of done that, but she did. She was frustrated, upset, emotional, and she shouted when she shouldn’t of shouted; Taylor hoped he was alright, that he knew she didn’t mean to snap.

She sat on the steps of the Ryder Community Centre, the place where Life Support was held. She’d gone inside once, attending one meeting in the back because Mark didn’t want to go alone, and she’d waited outside on another occasion, waiting for him; she walked him there, went and bought food for dinner, then walked back and waited for the meeting to finish. She didn’t mind it.

Taylor sat on the concrete steps, leaning against the metal post with flaking red paint. She needed to head back soon, she was cold. She’d been cold since she’d left but needed to know she wouldn’t start shouting once she entered the apartment again. Her hands were frozen as she sat on the steps, despite being tucked as far as they could into her sleeves. So she stood and started walking back. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but there were less sensible people out and more drunkard out, so she assumed it was late. Maybe Mark was in bed by now, and she’d have the night to think of the best way to apologise, or maybe he wouldn’t want to hear it. She was ready to sleep though.

So she let her feet carry her along the sidewalk, not fully paying attention to where she was going, but she reached her apartment building quicker than she expected. The stairwell was silent apart from the squeaking of the wooden stairs as she climbed, and the sliding of the apartment door once she reached the top. When she entered, she expected the room to be empty, maybe Roger sat playing guitar. She did not expect Mark to be up, sitting on the coffee table, and he stood instantly when he saw her walking through the door.

He’d changed, clearly he’d been sleeping, or trying to sleep, as he was in his boxer shorts and his long sleeved t-shirt that he only ever wore when he was going to bed. He still had his glasses on but his eyes looked tired and his hair was messy. His socks were uneven, one pulled halfway up his calf, the other bunched around his ankle. He stood and took a few steps forward.

“Hey,” he said. He was often quietly spoken anyway, but somehow he sounding quieter, smaller, like he’d somehow curled into himself with just his voice.

“Hi. I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Where’s Roger?” She unzipped her coat and hung it up; it was a little wet from light rain, but she was mostly dry by now.

“Asleep...in your room.” He was asleep in her room? She wanted to go and pull him out of the bed herself, but that would’ve been counterproductive. She didn’t care about Roger, she cared about Mark.

“I wanted to talk, to say sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No Mark, I snapped at you, for no good reason, and I shouldn’t of done that, and I’m really sorry.” He just stood where he was. She began to approach him, and he didn’t retreat, but he didn’t look at her, he just focused on the ground. She placed her hands on his arms. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t shouted at you, please.”

He pulled away and walked towards the window, the moon being the only source of light, shining through the large windows. It lit his features, accentuating his jaw and brow bones with light, his eyes from the reflection caused by his lenses; she could see his face so clearly as she walked towards him, even if he even looked...ever slightly miserable. “It’s just...” and he turned and looked at her, “What were you arguing about that made you that angry? What did I do to-”

“It wasn’t you, you didn’t do anything, it was Roger.”

“Roger?”

“We just don’t get along.”

“What did he do?”

“He was just...asking loads of questions, just being a bit of an ass, but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter though because I was an ass to you.”

“It’s not a bit deal.”

“It is Mark. Taking anger out on someone else is a no go. I'm sorry.”

He nodded his head and wandered to lean against the back of the couch. She stood in front, to the side, and she watched as he just stared out the window.

Taylor’s body was in front of the window and Mark couldn't help but stare. Surrounding her was light from the moon and the few street lights that weren't broken and maybe the stars. Her body appeared as a shadow in front of him. Her features were dark but he saw them clearly; even if he didn't know it was her, he knew that silhouette anywhere.

She walked to him and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling herself close to him, resting the side of her head against his. He brought his arms up to her back, fitting comfortably around her body and buried his face in the crook of her neck. And they stayed like that for a while, in a warm embrace, being comfortable with each other.

Taylor still felt bad about shouting at him. Mark still wasn't convinced that it wasn't his fault, but neither said anything more on the matter. It was forgotten, time to move on.

“We should go to bed,” she said, pulling away from Mark enough to see his face. Her hands rested on his forearms and his arms dropped back to his lap between them.

“You're right. And I hate it when you're right.”

“I know. Come on.” She walked away to their room and he followed, though he didn't have a chance to object even if he wished with her hand around his wrist, gentle pulling him behind her. And it was rough or tugging and he wasn't being dragged, but he kept enough paces behind her for their arms to be stretched out in the direction of the other.

She stripped down, first to just her jumper as her pajama shirt was in her room with a sleeping ex-junkie, but then Mark handed her one, an old one of his, a t-shirt he never wore because New York was always too cold for him, and she exchanged that for the jumper. It was plain for Mark Cohen, with his usual odd jumpers, but it was still striped and had once been very loved, now with the occasions drop of paint present. They crawled under the seemingly growing pile of bedding and they breathed.

Usually she snuggled up to him, but that night he shifted first, moved to her side as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling that once was white, and he draped an arm across her stomach, his forehead against her shoulder.

“Any plans for tomorrow?” asked Taylor.

“No. You?”

“Only work.”

“Sleep well.”

“You too.”

# # # # # #

She woke up feeling groggy, somewhat ill in her stomach. She rolled onto her side and she stared at the bundle of clothes in the corner. There was no arm across her, no head resting against her; she couldn’t feel his body heat, but she knew he was there. Rolling as gently as she could, she faced him.

He was on his side, hands tucked under his chin. His head was tilted down, but he looked so peaceful. He had a habit of forming into a ball when he was on his own, opposed to when they slept tangled together. His hair was messy and one of his sleeves had pulled up above his elbow. He looked peaceful.

She sat up on her elbow, leaning over his body to view the clock on the crate of a bedside table. 3:19, in bright red lines, no wonder she felt tired, so she flopped back down. She faced Mark, still sleeping quietly.

Tom Collins had a way of saying things that got stuck in your head, and that he had done with her. Taylor kept thinking about what he’d said and what she said in return. She was scared to have him leave, she didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t mind Roger being back, Mark was happy to have him back and that was important to her, to have him happy, but that didn’t mean she had to like him. She had a feeling that they would never fully get along, but she hoped she was wrong. But she was still concerned that Mark’s attention would be taken up by Roger and Roger alone. She had no control over who he gave his attention to, she just wanted to think that he’d still give it to her.

She chuckled to herself, quietly to not wake him up, about what she was thinking. She knew she hadn’t know him long, not like everyone else had, but she could not imagine him not being in her life anymore. He’d been there when she’d needed him, when she was fed up with her job and living in New York and being fed up with the entire population of the planet, everyone except him. Because he’d sit with her and allow her to rant and complain and be miserable with everybody, and he’d talk her down into a calm state of mind, and he'd let her cry if she needed; she lean into him and he'd wrap his arms around her and she'd soak through his jumper but he never seemed to mind much.

It was weird to think that less than half a year ago her life seemed so different. She was living with her best friend since middle school, having a great time. They lived in a nice apartment with no leaks or broken windows. It was all good until half a year ago. Things took an unexpected turn, and three months went by fast, and then it was just her in that apartment. She moved out as soon as she could, and into the rundown building on Avenue B.

She didn’t expect to be this close to Mark. She expected them to be friends, to talk and do joint shopping and help each other out when needed. She didn’t expect that they’d sleep in the same bed, that they’d sit on the fire escape together, in the freezing cold, wrapped in blanket with bottles of beer, singing songs and counting how many cars passed along the road beneath them.

As she looked at him as he slept, she realised that the feelings she felt for him were not as platonic as she’d first though. She brought a hand to him, resting it gently against his face. Her thumb stroked against his cheek, and he shifted but did not wake, moving into the touch. She was jealous of Roger, she realised, because of the attention, because she wanted his attention, but she also wanted more than what was already between them. She wanted to kiss him, kiss him properly with feelings of romance and passion. She wanted the friendship to be a different kind of relationship.

She needed sleep, she needed to sort through all that she felt to make sure she knew what she felt. She drew her hand away but remained on her side, facing him. She liked knowing they were close, and she didn’t want to risk it, but she wanted to take a leap, and hopefully he would catch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a random aside, May Day is a holiday celebrating the beginning of summer, based on pagan Anglo-Saxon customs and the pagan festival of Beltane, held on May 1st, or November 1st to those in the Southern Hemisphere. Beltane is celebrated/mostly observed by Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man, and customs include bonfires, hanging yellow flowers in doorways and visiting Holy wells. Some information for you there.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this extra chapter, and I hope you enjoy the next one on Wednesday!


	8. Blanket Burrito Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor doesn't feel so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your weakly instalment of the Mark/Taylor love story, so I hope you enjoy!

When the coffee shop employee work the next morning, she felt like shit. Her head was pounding like a nightclub dance floor and she burned so hot she was convinced she'd catch the mattress on fire. But Mark was still fast asleep, only his legs tangled with hers as he slept on the diagonal, so she pulled herself away with all the finesse she could manage, and pad her way to the kitchen. She lifted a blanket off the bed on route, draping across her shoulders like a cape. She felt both hot and cold and she wasn’t sure why.

It was cooler in the main room, and it appeared she was the only one up and awake, so she set the coffee pot to go before flopping back onto the couch. The pot dinged after a while, indicating the coffee was done, yet she had no effort to pull herself up to get some, so she just laid there. She closed her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if she’d drifted off to sleep or not, but when she opened them, there was a Mark looming over.

“Are you okay?”

“I feel like death.”

“You look like death.”

“Why thank you. What are you doing up so early?”

“Not sure, maybe it’s just habit from work. You don’t look so good.”

“I thought we went over this.”

“No, but you genuinely don’t look too good. How do you feel, honestly?”

“My head hurts a bit, and I’m hot and I’m cold and...I don’t know.” Mark brings a hand to her forehead, flipping his hand over from palm to back hand.

“You really do feel warm, like, really warm. I think you have a fever, probably from being out last night; it was pretty chilly after all.” She hummed in agreement, too tired now to speak. “You’re not going to work.” Then she protested.

“I need to go to work, we have bills to pay.”

“One day won’t hurt you know. And if you take today off and get better then you can go back tomorrow, alright?” She nodded reluctantly. They did have bills to pay, but she would not be working well if she went in, so maybe Mark had a point.

He walked away, picking up his mud from the drying rack and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You want one?” She muffed a no in response, and he chuckled, pouring in the milk and taking a sip. “I’m going to get dressed,” and he padded off to his room. She hadn’t even noticed he was still wandering around in his t-shirt and boxers, which he never did because their apartment was usually too cold for that, and he was surprisingly self conscious; she never thought he should have a reason too, but he always complained he was too skinny, that he was nothing but bone, and that clothes never fit him properly and made him look a weird shape. She’d tell him off for saying stupid things like that, that they didn’t make him look a weird shape, that he had no reason to worry about the way he looked. No matter how she tried, she was never able to successfully convince him.

Taylor continued to lay on her back, and she closed her eyes. She felt herself drifting off, but was abruptly jolted out of the calm state when the phone rang. It was louder than usually, rattling in her head, and she let it ring out to voicemail. It beeped.

_“Hey, it’s Collins. I know at least one of you is up, so pick up the phone. Taylor, you’re usually up, pick the phone up, I have average news, come on, pick-”_

“Hey Tom, I’m here.”

_“Hey, you picked up, but you don’t sound so hot.”_

“Oh I am, I’m boiling, got a fever.”

_“Fever? Aw sorry to hear it kiddo.”_

“Don’t worry about it. You said you had news?”

_“Average news, yes. I finally got that batch of posters back that we put in to be printed.”_

“Really? We’ve been waiting ages for them.”

_“Yeah, I know, but they’re finally back. I was going to ask if you wanted to help put them up later, but you’re not well enough to be out and about.”_

“Tom, let me help, it’ll be fine.”

_“No, you need rest. I’ll get Roger to help me, or Mark, or both, but you need to rest up, alright?”_

“You sound like Mark.”

“Who sounds like me?” Mark had appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame drinking his coffee. His hair was a little tamer now, she noticed, and he looked less tired, mostly due to the caffeine boost.

“Tom.”

“Oh put me on.” Taylor holds out the phone for him as he walks over and he takes it. “Collins, hey.” She wandered back to the bedroom to either lay down or get dressed, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t ask.

_“How you doing this fine morning Mark?”_

“Same as always, tired. You?”

_“Also tired, yeah. I was just telling Taylor that the missing person posters finally came back, thought you might be able to help me put some up, Roger too.”_

“Yeah, we’ll be there.”

_“Just make sure you look after Taylor too, don’t forget about her, will you?”_

“I won’t.”

_“I’m being serious Mark.”_ His tone took a quick shift, becoming instantly flat and serious, and tone Collins donned very rarely. _“She’s worried, I’m not even sure I should be saying this, but I’m also worried for her.”_

“Worried? Why is she worried?”

_“Because she doesn’t want you forgetting about her, you know, with Roger coming back. She doesn’t want to feel like you’re going to choose him over her all the time.”_

“I wouldn’t forget about her, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He chuckled, playing it off, but Collins didn’t laugh; Collins was silent.

_“I’m being serious. You talk to her, make sure she’s alright, okay?”_

Mark hummed a response down the line. He would, he thought, he should talk to her. He didn’t know she was worried, she hadn’t mentioned it to him, but clearly it was something that needed addressing if Collins was getting involved. He wondered how long had she been concerned? True, Roger had only been back a few days, but was there anything before that made her feel that way, and only being put into some form of perspective after meeting his old roommate? He wasn’t sure, he should ask, but he didn’t know how to bring it up; Mark had time to think about that later.

They said their goodbyes, exchanging details about meeting later after lunch to put up the posters, and he put the phone back on the receiver. He downed his remaining coffee, now colder than ideal, and he winced at the icey, bitter taste. Rinsing the mug and setting it aside for later, he went back to the phone, punching in a number that was written in her messy yet put together handwriting on the yellow post-it note stuck to the wall. It ran and three times before it picked up.

He ventured to their bedroom when he was done . He knocked and waited for a response, and he heard a groan in reply to his knock, and when he entered, he found her bundled into a ball, wrapped in blankets and clinking to them as much as she could.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m ill, of course I’m not okay.”

“You need anything?”

“Phone my work, let them know I can’t make my shift.”

“I’ve already called, they said get well soon.” She let out a strained chuckle. “Need anything else while I’m here?”

“Do you need to go do anything in the next hour?”

“No...why do you ask?”

“Come here, I want to cuddle.” He laughed, and she sniggered in turn. “I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not, I’m coming.” He walked to the mattress and sat down, shuffling close behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist, with his other arm stretched up over their heads. “This better for you?”

“Very much.” Their bodys fit together well, their knees bending together and bodies curved comfortable against each other. Mark couldn’t help but bury his face into the back of her neck, and she giggled.

“I’ve told you don’t do that, it tickled.” Even just with Mark next to her, she felt better. He often had that effect on her, and it gave her mixed emotions. It was good to know that she only had to see him, to be sitting next to him, to be talking with him, to make her feel better. However it did concern her, that one person should have that much influence on her emotional state. But she was too ill to think too much into it. She closed her eyes, but she already knew that sleep would not come back to her until at least twelve thirty. “Talk to me Mark.”

“Talk to you?”

“Yeah, I just want you to talk, about whatever you want.”

“I-I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Talk to me about your film; last we spoke about it, you said you were really making progress.”

“Yeah, yeah I am. I think I’ve finished most of it, just a few more things to add scenes in, ending credits and stuff, but it’s come together better than I thought it would.”

“Really?”

“Yeah definitely. I mean, for a while, I was really struggling, nothing quite felt right or...meaningful enough, and I wanted to make it special. After we lost Angel, it really made me think; she was always so supportive of me and my creativity and my film, and what I wanted to put out there, bringing HIV and AIDS awareness to a whole new bunch of people. We had this conversation once, and I was talking about not finishing the film because I didn’t have to motivation, and she said that I had to finish it, that I wasn’t allowed to not finish it because of what it stood for and what I was doing; she said it meant a lot to see a straight person who was HIV negative talk about the issue as someone who was living with it. And I wasn’t quite sure what she meant at first, but she talked about breaking down barriers between people, and my film could help to that. She spoke so highly of it and it makes me sad that she’ll never get to see it.”

“You have to know she’s proud of you. From what I know of her, she sounds incredible and someone I wish I had the opportunity to know.”

“I think you two would’ve really gotten along; both such strong people who don’t take shit from anyone.” She chuckled but broke out into coughing. He sat her up so she could breath and rested his hand on her back to keep her steady. Once she’d stopped, he asked if she needed a drink.

“Please, but hurry back, I want to hear more about Angel.” Mark smiled as he pulled himself to his feet and wanded to the kitchen. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, nearly dropping it in the process, and filled it with water. When he returned, Taylor was still sat up, slowly becoming more engulfed in the blankets around her, only her head poking out from the mound of fabric. He held it out to her but she refused to take it from him.

“Really? You’re making me do this?” She flashed him a smile, as innocent and as not-sickly as she could, and he shook his head at how easily led he was. He didn’t mind really, but the more dramatic the better; that was how it always was between them, and it was the way he liked it. He held the glass to her lips and she drank, small steady gulps. “Better?” He asked when he pulled the drink away, and she nodded in response, flopping back down onto her back. Setting the glass down on the beside crate, he looked at her, with her eyes closed, pale and slightly sweaty and exhausted from illness, and despite that illness, she did look quite sweet, young, almost fragile. He thought it was funny to think of her as fragile, as only a few minutes ago he described her someone who didn’t take shit from anyone; both were true, he thought, as he walked round to the other side of the mattress and laid down next to her, and they both looked up at the ceiling together.

“Talk to me about Angel. I want to know more about her.”

“Well, urm, she was great, and I’m sure you know that, but she was just...she was something. The first time I met her was Christmas morning, and Christmas Eve was terrible; we had our power turned off, Collins had our keys but was nowhere to be found, Roger was being miserable, but what was new there, and I was tired and cold and hungry. And then Collins saunters in with a bucket of food and beer and Stoli, and introduces Angel to us, and she comes in in a Santa coat and zebra tights and she dances away with such an attitude and it was great. Me and Collins and Angel all went Life Support, and that was the first time I’d ever gone, or even heard about it. She quickly became this permanent fixture, you know, like, she was always there, but in a good way.” He chuckled. “You know, I’m sure Collins is best to talk about her, not me.”

“But Tom’s not here. And I have talked to him, and, you know, it’s just...it’s so sweet. Like, when you mention her, and you can tell he’s sad about losing her, but there’s this light in his eyes when he talks about her and it’s the sweetest thing. You can just see how much he loved her, still loves her really. I hope to have something like that one day, you know.”

“Yeah, I’d like that too. Hopefully one day, when I’m financially stable or something like that, and not living in an apartment with broken windows and no heating.”

She didn’t say anything. She’d like that too, but she didn’t care, not really, because she’d already found someone. So maybe she didn’t love him, way to soon from that, but she could see it, that she could love him, and she was sure with enough time that she would, and it’d be even harder to get over him. She didn’t care that they lived in this stupid run down apartment where it was always cold and the rain leaked in and that money was an issue, because they were friends and they had each other. So when it was cold, they bundled up together in blankets and limbs and body heat. And when the rain leaked in, one of them would climb the unsteady ladder to tape up some tarp and the other would stand at the bottom, keeping the ladder from rocking on the wonky floorboards. And when the money was an issue, and it always was, but when it was bad because one of them got mugged or lost something or they splurged on something unnecessary, they went without food and their stomachs would rumble but they’d manage together.

It hurt a little to hear him say that, though she knew she didn’t have a genuine reason to feel that way. He was his friend, yes, but that was all; just because she wanted something more, she still wasn’t what that more was, but just because she did, didn’t mean he did. To hear him say he’d only fall in love in a place far different from where they were now hurt because it reminded her that her feelings were one sided, unrequited like in all those stupid films they loved to watch together. It did make her feel stupid, but she found there was no other way to feel about it.

“Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve said your name three times and you didn’t respond, you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just...fever, you know.”

He nodded his head. “Want me to leave you to sleep?” She shrugged her shoulders, though he could barely see since she’d turned herself into a human burrito of blankets. “Do you want me to stay?” She shrugged again. “What do you want?”

A dangerous question, she thought, but she wouldn't say anything out of place, she wasn’t like that, and she knew that wouldn’t be fair on him. “I want to sleep,” was how she replied, and it was true. She wished to sleep and when she woke up, to feel better, but she doubted it would be that quick and simple, as least not today.

Mark shifted his weight as he began to stand. Something else was going on with her, but he couldn’t tell what it was. She wasn’t someone that zoned out very often, only when she had something serious on her mind. She was ill, so that would probably be why, he thought, so he stood and was walking to the door to let her sleep.

“I want you to stay.” He turned back, and she’d rolled over, facing away from him, but he heard her. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked back over and sat on the mattress. He shifted again to be against her body, and she relaxed; he initially felt tension despite the layers of blankets and fabric.

He was glad she asked him to stay because he wanted to stay. He didn’t want to say that encase she just wanted to be in peace, but he was glad she let him stay. He always felt different with Taylor, especially when it was just the two of them, and he wasn’t quick sure why he felt so different, he just did. He’d tried to pin down the feelings once or twice, and he’d just worked himself up into some form of emotional panic. He didn’t want to lose her, he couldn’t lose her, so sometimes feelings scared him, made him scared that he would lose her. Mark stopped trying to pin down exactly what it was that he felt, and he just let it be, just allowed himself to feel what he did, and if he was one day able to label it perfectly, then he would, but for now, he knew he was happy, and he liked that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy it?? I want Mark and Taylor to have a ship name, any ideas??
> 
> Also, I've made Roger a bit of a jerk in this, so very sorry. I love Roger too, but he needed to be a bit of a jerk for some of this to work, but don't worry, things always work out for the best in the end.
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed this, and if you have any ship name ideas ^_^


	9. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quite morning between Mark and his roommate. Or...is it roommates now, with Roger back in his old room again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot to update yesterday??! Yeah, me, so very sorry. I've been ill and school had been hectic and I'm far behind on the progress for this fic, like, I thought I would've finished chapter 12 by now, but no, still near the start; I've just been to ill omg.
> 
> But please enjoy!

She fell asleep surprisingly quickly he thought. He was glad she'd taken his advice, or his mother's advice really, about wrapping yourself in as many layers as possible to sweat out the fever. He was ill last month and he did the same.

Despite her sleeping peacefully, meaning he could leave and go about his day, he stayed. He could've went out and bought them dinner, but he didn't, or he could've gone and capture more footage for his almost finished film, but he didn't. Mark stayed with Taylor because he wanted to. He had no desire to do anything without her, and with Roger still asleep, he had nothing to do and no one to talk to. He didn't mind too much.

But after awhile, Mark heard movement outside of the bedroom, and seconds later, Roger called out.

“Mark?” He was loud, and afraid that Roger would wake Taylor, the filmmaker, as quietly as possible, scrambled to his feet. “Mark, you up?” He slipped on the floor, but managed to stay upright, leaning on the door frame, and seconds later he was in the living room.

“Shh, Taylor's asleep, she's not well.”

Roger nodded his head before wandering towards the kitchen counter. He didn't say anything else, just proceeded to grab a mug for coffee and pour. He pulled a face after taking his first sip. “It’s cold.”

“Put it in the microwave.” Mark walked to window ledge and sat down. Roger stuck his drink in the microwave and set it to go, and the cup began to spin inside. “What happened? I mean...yesterday, between you and Taylor?”

“What’s it matter?”

“She stormed out, now running a fever, and I’m concerned about her, so’s Collins, so I want to know what went on.”

“You concerned about her, not me?”

“You ain’t the one running the high fever, Roger, she is, and-”

“It doesn’t matter alright. We got in an argument, she stormed out, she got sick, it’s her fault, not mine. Let it go Mark.”

He nodded. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and he knew he wouldn’t, so he just nodded his head because he had nothing to say, but he still somehow felt guilty for giving up so easily “Oh, Collins called this morning. We, urm, the other week put some posters in for Mimi and we finally got them back. Told him you and I’d help put them up today, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll head over soon, just get dressed.” The microwave pinged and he removed his mug.

“I’ll probably head over a bit later, want to make sure she’s alright.”

Roger nodded and wandered away without another word. He was being weird, Mark thought, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of last night or if it was something else, or this was just how Roger was now. Mark hadn’t seen him in months, and a person can really change, in only a matter of days really, so a month could make a whole new person. He hoped that wasn’t what had happened, he liked Roger as is, but maybe it had and this was just Roger now, weird and somehow even more moody than before.

He should move, he thought; the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end with the draft coming through from the window with the broken latch. He should probably fix it, except he didn’t have the money to buy a replacement and he was as far from DIY as you could get. If he didn’t have money to replace it, he sure as hell didn’t have money to hire anyone to fix the goddamn window. He should still move, but he didn’t, instead he just sat there, letting the chills ghost across him. 

He swore that friend of his was psychic because the first full body shiver he experienced, she appeared in the doorway, burrito wrapped but somehow smiling.

“You alright?” She said.

“Yes. How about you? You sound a bit better.”

“I feel a bit better, think the sleep helped. How long I been out?”

“A good few hours.” He smiled back and she plodded in his direction, leaning against the back of the couch, a good few feet between them. “You should go back to bed.”

“Not tired.”

“You look tired.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I can’t just lay in there all day.” He nodded, looking off, and she noticed. “Mark, what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“That look you get when you’re not feeling so great.”

“I’m fine.”

Taylor freed herself from the cocoon of blankets around her, letting them fall backwards onto the couch, and she pushed herself up and walked towards Mark. He watched her approach but he didn’t move. He was waiting for her to say something else, to complain that he wasn’t telling her stuff, or to continue questioning him, pushing him, but she didn’t. She walked to him, then stopped. She took hold of his hands and pulled him up, taking a step back and he took one forward as he was pulled to his feet, and she hugged up, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms made their way around her waist as they always did.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk you know,” she said, “And it’s also okay if you don’t have anything to say because you’re not sure why you feel not so great, just be honest with me.”

“Yeah,” he said. She must be psychic because she always seemed to know what was up, and what to say to make him feel like an idiot in the very best way. He could’ve just said ‘I feel kind of worthless but I’m not sure why’, and she would’ve been okay with that, would’ve helped him with it, but instead he didn’t, he said he was fine. If it was Roger, he would’ve replied with okay, and walked off like he always did, it was a Roger thing to not look too deep. It was a Taylor thing to push in the right way so he never felt any pressure. It was weird. So he just held her tighter, arms curling around her back; she smelt nice, but he couldn’t place the smell. It seemed familiar, something that reminded him of safety and...he wasn’t sure, but he did feel safe with her, and then he held her even tighter for a few moments until she pulled back, keeping her hands on his shoulders and his hands pulled round to her hips.

“You need to talk about anything?” She brought a hand to his face, to his cheek, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I think I’m okay you know, though, I must say my clothes really suit you.”

She forget she was still wearing that t-shirt she borrowed from him the night before. She chuckled, leaning forward and resting her head against his chest, and her hands slipped from his face to his neck and collar. “I’ll bear that in mind when I’m cold and want to steal one of your jumpers.”

“I think that red one, with the navy stripes and gray panel, would look good on you.” And she chuckled again, lifting her head up with a smile on her face.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know you will, but you should go back to bed.”

“But I’m bored.” She pushed off of him, forcing him back a step, as she spun away from him, walking in a slumped and dramatic manner to the back of the couch once again. She leaned and sat with her arms folded across her chest.

“But you’re ill.”

“I have a fever, I’m not ill, there’s a difference. I still feel terrible but I need to do something; I’ll die of boredom before this fever takes me.”

“You know, you should’ve been an actor, always so dramatic.”

“And I would’ve been the best. I can see it now, me...as R2-D2. Hollywood don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Yeah, they really don’t. And besides, you’re much more of a Han Solo.”

“Why thank you Luke Skywalker.” They laughed together, and Mark walked over to her, taking slow, elongated steps to her side and crossing his arms like hers.

“You should still go get some rest.”

“Yeah I know. The nap really helped to be fair, so another few hours could get me up and on my feet.”

“You’re not leaving this apartment until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Fine.” She was reluctant to agree, dragging out the middle letters, however she had no place to be, since she wasn’t working, and she would prefer to rid the fever as soon as possible, so she pushed herself off the couch yet again and leaned over the back to reach the pile of blankets, then dragged them behind her. She stopped in the doorway before turning. “You coming?”

His head lowered as he laughed. “Yeah, I’m coming,” and he followed her lead, “But I can’t stay, going out with Roger to put up those posters.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I know.” She walked in, not waiting for him then, and Mark had a twist in his stomach, like he’d done something wrong. He traipsed in after her; she in the process of untangling the blankets into layers, and he just watched in the doorway. “You could help.”

“Yes, sorry, sorry,” and he quickly came to her aid, holding one end of one blanket and pulling, untwisting them and bringing them into the air to spread out across the mattress, creating a dome of air under the fabric, much like a parachute, and it forced its way down onto her; she felt like a child so very briefly.

He smiled down on her from his stood position at the end of the bed. She was so sweet, he could see the child in her when the blanket came down over her head, the smile on her face when the air pocket and blanket engulfed her like she was much smaller than she actually was. The knot in his stomach eased when she smiled at him, but it dropped when their eyes met, replaced by a smile that was almost sad, weaker, a timid turn of her lips; it hurt him because he’d done something to make her look at him like that, and he didn’t know what he’d done.

The rest of the blankets were spread out across the bed with her underneath them, and he laid down next to her, having to lift the pile at the corner to fit himself between them and the mattress. She laid on her back, looking up, and not looking at him when he turned to her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He thought about what Collins had said. Maybe he should ask, but it felt wrong asking her like this, asking her when she’d not well. It felt wrong, like an ambush. He’d wait until tomorrow at least, but when she was better, and they could talk and everything would make sense and be okay. He hoped everything would be okay.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Be honest with me Taylor, please.” He rolled to lay on his side.

“I…” She honestly debated saying something, saying that maybe this wasn’t the best anymore, them sharing the same bed, because she didn’t want to take her hands off of him, because she wanted to stay curled against him for as long as she could. She debated saying that she’d had a dream about him, where things were different and she would kiss him and he would kiss back with the same feelings she had. Not those light kisses placed on cheeks in good faith or good luck for the day ahead or as thanks, but kisses between lips and there would be heat and passion and friction and a spark of something she’d been looking for. She thought about saying it for a brief second, but knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, not now, not here, maybe not ever. “I’m just worried about Mimi. I want to help you guys and I’m stuck here instead, laying in bed when I could be out there looking, putting up those posters.” She didn’t say anything close to what she first thought, though it wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t worry about it, me and Collins and Roger will put up the posters, we’ll look and it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I know, I just wish I could help.”

“I get it, but it’s best for you to rest up first, then you might be well enough to help us tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever you say Doc.” She turned her head to face him and he smiled at her. She looked at him and it hurt that he wasn’t hers in the way she wanted, but she’d rather have this, what they already have, than nothing at all, so she couldn’t risk losing him. “Can we sleep now?”

He nodded his head, and she rolled to face him, shuffling closer and tucking her body into his. Her forehead rest against his chest and she could hear his heart beating, she could feel it in her fingertips too as she rest her hand against his ribs. There was a constant rise and fall under her digits with his breathing, muscles contracting and relaxing.

“I can’t stay for too long.”

“I know, but...just stay with me for a bit longer, please?”

“Of course, you know I’ll stay with you, you only need ask.”

She wished it really was that simple sometimes, that she could just ask him to stay and he would. She wanted him to stay by her side for the rest of her life, the rest of their lives together. Maybe she would have that, and they would be friends and it would be okay because she’d get over him, and it would all be fine. But she spend every day with him, talking and laughing and smiling, and singing songs while they washed the dishes, and pitching terrible film ideas to each other over drinks at two in the morning. She spend every night with him, curled against him, hearing him breathing, feeling his body against her, his bare arms against the exposed skin of her waist from the shirt riding up...it would be hard getting over him. She knew that it made it harder, living in his personal bubble, but she couldn’t bring herself to back away, to put the space between them that would let the feelings dissipate.

She wanted to love him, to be in love with him, but she knew it would only hurt her in the long run. She’d watch Mark fall in love with a girl, a film student probably, and they’d go on cute little dates, and she'd be all that he was looking for and they’d be perfect together, and she would watch and she’d break a little, but it’d be okay because he’d be happy. That was what mattered the most, that he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update, and so sorry again for it being late, just...oh well, just sorry.
> 
> Leave a comments or kudos if you want, it really means a lot.


	10. What do you really want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor has a well needed talk with Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy!

The next time she woke up, she was alone in the bed. Made sense, Mark had to go out and help put up the posters. Hopefully something would come of it, that someone would see the poster and see Mimi, and they’d know who to call. Hopefully they’d find her soon.

She sat up and noticed a sticky note on the side of a glass on the crate. The note was yellow and the writing was in Mark’s scrawl, fast written and slanted. She leaned across and peeled it from the glass.

_Gone out, not sure when I’ll be back._  
No later than 10  
Stay hydrated 

She smiled to herself, holding the paper in her hands. He took the time to write her a note, even though she knew that if he wasn’t at home, he’d be out with Roger and Tom. It was something small but greatly appreciated. She leaned over again and grabbed the glass he’d left, a glass of water, and she drank, not at first realising how thirst she was, downing the drink quickly and setting the empty glass back on the crate.

Taylor pulled herself up and out of the bed, taking only one blanket from the top and wrapping around her shoulders. She felt significantly better than she had that morning, though she still felt warm and sweaty, that was the fever. She dragged herself to the fridge, knowing she hadn’t eaten all day, and pushed around for anything to eat, even if she wasn’t very hungry. They had little in. She thought they had more, but with the addition of a third mouth, they must’ve ran out sooner that she was expecting. She ate something small, she knew eating too much would only make her feel worse.

She was alone in the apartment and she wasn’t sure what to do, but she wanted a shower, so she had a shower. She unwrapped herself from the blankets and threw it onto the couch before heading to the bathroom. The shower started and she stripped down. It was a feelings of relief when the cool water fell across her body, her body temperature dropping in seconds. She was convinced she could stay under the water for the next hour, but her legs were weak from sleep and lack of calories, so she showered quickly. Stepping out, she dried quickly, wrapping the towel around her body, and walking to her bedroom, her actual bedroom, to find clean clothes.

It was her room, but the duvet was still doubled over at the foot of the bed, the pillows on a slant, black boots sticking out from under the frame, a spray of clothes across the floor. Roger had really made himself at home, she thought, as she pulled the duvet back and sat down. She noticed one of her boxes was jarred. She stood and opened that box. A few items were moved, clothes with new creases; the boxed had been opened. It had to of been Roger, he was the only one that could. Mark would never do it; he’d asked about the boxes a few times in the first month, but she never told him anything, so he just stopped asking, respecting her wish to keep it to herself.

She should be angry at Roger, she should be furious that he dare rummage through her personal belongings, but she wasn’t. She felt a little angry, closer to betrayed, but somehow she just felt relieved. No one here knew about Delilah, no one knew that she’d argued with her best friend and that Deliliah left after, that Delilah went home back to Massachusetts with only one suitcase of belonging, leaving everything else held to her name in their shared apartment in New York. Taylor had been wrecked afterwards, but she knew it was her fault too. She’d at least hoped that Delilah would’ve called, but she hadn’t.

The loss still affected her, but what could she do? She’d tried to call their home phone but no one answered. Taylor couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it, so to get it out of her head, she moved. New apartment, new start. And it really had been: meeting Mark had been what she needed, she needed somebody to be there and she needed company and he provided that. It was weird when Taylor realised she thought less and less about Delilah, and more and more about Mark in her place. How times change, she though, as pulled the top box off of the pile. She wasn’t sure why she’d kept some items of Del’s and not others. She pulled the items from out of the box; stuffed bear, a notebook, an old keyring, some clothes, a textbook from back in high school.

Taylor held up one of the jumpers Delilah had left behind. It was a sweatshirt with the New England Patriots logo on front; they’d always been big football supporters and they used to watch the games together back home, but not since moving in with Mark, on account of not having a reliable power source in the apartment. She set the article of clothing to the side as she looked through some other clothes.

Then she changed into the sweatshirt and clean leggings, and plodded back out of the room. She still wasn’t sure what to do, but then the phone began ringing, so she answered.

“Hello?”

_“Taylor, is that you?”_

“Yes Mrs Cohen, it’s me.”

_“I thought I recognised that voice. How are you sweetie?”_

“I’m fine, though I have a fever at the moment, how about yourself?”

_“Oh, we’re good here. It snowed the other day, made me think of Mark when he was little; he used to love the snow, would run around, throwing snowballs at his brother, making snow angels. They used to come in dripping wet, leaving a trail around the house.”_

“Yeah, that sounds like Mark. How is Daniel?”

_“He’s fine, working hard on his studies. You know, you two really need to come up sometime soon. I’d love for you to meet him and it’d be nice to see Mark again.”_

“I’d like that. I’ll try to convince him to take me up sometime before the year’s over.”

_“Speaking of Mark, is he home? I haven’t spoken to him in so long; I’ve spoken to you more recently than him.”_

“No, he isn’t, sorry to say. He’s out putting up posters for Mimi, hopefully we’ll find her soon.”

_“Oh yes, it’s unfortunate she hasn’t been found yet. I do hope she comes home safe.”_

“So do I.”

_“Well, let him know I called.”_

“I will Mrs Cohen, don’t worry. It was nice speaking to you.”

_“And to you, and hopefully I’ll get to speak to you again soon.”_

“Yeah, I hope so. Have a good evening.”

_“You too sweetie.”_

The phone clicked dead and Taylor put the phone back on the receiver. Mrs Cohen was always so nice to her, and she wished to meet her one day. Taylor was never quite sure why Mark refused to pick up the phone in case it was her or his dad, because she’d spoken to both his parents and they seemed so kind, so genuine, and only ever wanting to be supporting, even if it’s not always worded the best way, but she supposed it was always different when it’s your own parents and not someone else. Maybe in the summer, she could convince them to take a trip to Scarsdale, and he could show her all the places he remembers visiting when he was little. It brought a smile to her face.

There was a knock a door that confused her. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she approached the door with caution, opening it just a crack, to reveal Tom, smiling, looking at her through the tiny gap between the door and the frame.

“May I come in?” He asked as she slide back the door, moving to the side.

“I don’t see why not?” And he walked in.

“Bought you a sandwich and a chocolate bar if you want them.”

“I’ll split the chocolate with you, but that’s it.”

“Deal.” He smiled and she shut the door. “So how you feeling kiddo?”

“Fine, better than I did this morning, so that’s great. Thought you were out putting up posters?”

“Yeah we did, got most of them up. Those two stayed out looking, I said I’d come back, see how you were getting along, bring you food.”

“Well, it’s greatly appreciated Tom. You want a beer?”

“Yeah, sure, if you’ve got one to spare.”

She walked over the the fridge. “Surprisingly, it’s one of the few things we never seem to run out off.” She pulled two bottles out, setting them on the counter as she rummaged from a bottle opener in the back of one of their draws. She found it and popped the caps off, handing one to Tom, who’d walked over to her.

“The fire escape?” He motioned to the window.

“Sure, I’ll meet you out there.”

He went to the window, unhooking the latch and stepping out. Taylor pulled on her coat and then retrieved her blanket and her beer, before joining Tom on the fire escape, who was looking out over the edge, out to the street below. Despite the time and the darkness, there were people out, some drunk and some sober, some fighting and some laughing. She leaned over the edge, looking down to the end of the road and saw a commotions between a handful of people she couldn’t recognise from the distance, and she couldn’t make out words, only disgruntled shouts, and she sighed, turning and sitting on the open ledge, taking a drink from the bottle in her hand.

“So, how you doing?”

“Didn’t you already ask me that?”

“I don’t mean about you’re fever; how you doing with Mark, you know, with Roger being back?”

“Oh, well, I’m...I’m doing okay. Me and Roger got in a fight, don’t know if either mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t tell me what it was about.”

“It was nothing major, or, it sort of was. He started asking all these questions about my friendship with Mark, like he were testing it, and I got frustrated that he dare say such a thing and it got out of hand. I stormed out and got back later, caught myself a fever.

“He’s probably under stress, you know, missing Mimi.”

“Yeah, I know. He was still an ass though.”

“Got you worried about Mark?”

“Sort of, but Mark really looked out for me today, which was nice, and he spent time with me since I wasn’t well, told me stories from before my time, from last year and all. It was nice hearing about all that I didn’t get to see.” Tom took what he heard on board. It didn’t seem like Mark had spoken to her, but at least the boy listened to his words. He was glad Mark had the sense to make sure she was doing okay before leaving. Mark even mentioned while they were out, when Roger was out of earshot, about how nice it was to spent time with just her, just talking. He said they spoke of Angel and it mades Collins’ heart warm, to know that people still remember her and care for her like he does.

“I’m glad he’s being clever, and I’m glad you’re feeling better about it all.” He drunk from the bottle and she followed his actions.

Taylor wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask him about what to do with these newly realized feelings. He always offered sound advice, and maybe he’d help make sense of really what she felt. Maybe she shouldn’t, maybe it would just make thing more complicated and awkward for the both of them, but what really did she have to lose? Thomas Collins was the kind of guy you could tell your darkest secrets to and he’d take them to the grave, valuing friendship over gossip. “Tom, can I...can I ask advice on something?” Her tone was as clear and steady as her voice would allow as she sat twiddling her thumbs round the bottle held between the thighs.

“Sounds serious, yeah, of course.”

“I’ve...sort of realised that, maybe my feelings for Mark aren’t so...platonic, anymore.” She brought her eyes up to look at him, as he leaned back against the railing, flashing a crooked smile in her direction.

“What advice do you want?”

“You...don’t sound surprised.”

“Well, I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected I guess. It was just so clear, obvious that you loved him.”

“Love? No, no, not love, not yet, don’t say that, I only realised I liked him like that the other night. And obvious? How is it obvious? Does he know?”

“Mark’s blind, he can’t see it, he’s too stupid to see it. And it’s not obvious like that.” He took a drink. “It’s more...you’re attentive to his needs and go out of your way to make sure he’s okay. You sacrifice the little things as well at the big things, things that don’t even seem like sacrifices.”

“Okay, so, since you know everything it seems,” and she laughed away the nerves that where bubbling away in her stomach like champagne, “What do I do?”

He dragged a hand down his face as if he was thinking, and then his expression changed when an idea formed in his head. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. You can answer yes or no only, and you must answer honestly, it will make sure I give the right advice.”

“Alright.” She prepared herself by taking long gulps of beer, hoping that it would allow her to answer in a voice that sounded like it knew what it was saying.

“Do you want to cuddle with him?”

“What sort of-”

“Just answer the question! I’ll explain when I’m done.”

“Fine. Yes.”

“Do you want to go out to dinner with him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go to on a little date round the park?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to kiss him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to sleep with him.”

“...yes.”

“Well there’s your advice.”

“That’s not advice Tom! I can’t just walk up to him and be like ‘Hey Mark, I think you’re cute, let’s fuck!’. That’s not me, that’s not him, that’s not how relationships work you know.”

“Well don’t word it like that, no, but if you want him, go for him. What’s holding you back?”

“I...I just don’t know how he feels about me.” Her voice dropped in volume as she took another drink. She was getting close to the end of the bottle, and despite having a chill, she had no desire to go inside and get another one. It looked like Tom had finished his. “Like, what if I say something I can’t take back? I don’t want to risk what we already have. I’d rather live with these feelings, him never know, and be friends, than say something and lose him.”

“Say something, trust me.”

“How? What am I supposed to say? I can’t lose him Tom. I’ve lost a close friend before and it almost destroyed me, and I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Look, just sit down with him and tell him. Don’t try and sugar coat it, play it off like it’s no big deal, because he’s stupid and won’t understand. Tell him you care for him and kiss him, simple as.”

“That’s not simple.”

“What else? There’s something else you’re not sure about, I can tell, what is it?” He always knew when there was something else on her mind, something else that made her hesitate.

“Maureen.”

“What about her?”

“He’s still in love with her.” Small drops of rain began to fall on them, so light they could barely feel it, but it created a mist in the yellow of the street lights.

“No he’s not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was there after the breakup, when it was still recent and it hurt him a lot. He was still in love with her then, you could tell. He didn’t know how to act around her, or around Joanne. It was like he’d forgotten how to just be friends with her, which made sense of course. But he didn’t know what to say, what do. He wouldn’t stand near her, especially not with Joanne around because it hurt him too much to see that she’d moved on.”

“But they’re closer than that now.”

“That’s my point. He’s comfortable with her now because he’s moved on. He’s accepted all that happened, that they broke up, that she moved on, and it allowed him to get on with his life. He’s close with her now because he remembers how to be her friend, not her boyfriend. He’s able to sit on the couch with her because he’s comfortable with her, not this awkward kid still in love with her. Trust me, he’s not in love with her.”

Taylor didn’t respond. What was she supposed to say? She continued twiddling her thumbs, trying to process all that Tom had said and to hopefully find a useful output.

“Hey, look at me,” and she followed his command, looking up to meet his gaze, “I’m not going to force you to say anything, but you should. You’re thinking only of the worse; what if you kiss him and he kisses back? What if he feels the same about you as you do about him?”

“I didn’t think about that.”

“Think about it, and talk to him. It’ll help you. If he reciprocates, boom, happiness, cute dates, sex; don’t you want that?”

“Who doesn’t want sex?”

“Touche kiddo.” She chuckled, feeling better. Tom was such a brilliant friend, and she definitely owed him more than just a beer now. She still wasn’t sure if she would tell Mark, she’d have to think more on the matter, but everything seemed a lot clearer now. It felt like she could reach for something and grasp it, and it would all be okay.

She stood and stretched, holding her empty bottle in her hands, the blanket falling from around her shoulders to the window ledge. The window ledge had gotten wet with rain, but a spot remained dry where she’d sat. “It’s cold and it’s raining and I’m going in, you coming?”

“Yeah, I’m coming, it’s no fun out here on my own.” She laughed again as she stuck a foot through the open window, followed by ducking her head under the frame.

Tom watched with a fond smile. Maybe destiny was a real thing; who would’ve thought that two people in the same night would approach him about the same thing. He was sure she’d come to him sooner or later, but he really wasn’t expecting Mark to, especially not at a time like this. Mark was a guy who usually suffered in silence, or at least with them he did, and he’d sort through his emotions and thoughts and actions on his own, rarely sharing them. He was different with Taylor, and that was the first sign. His smile grew when he thought about the similar advice he gave them both, hoping that finally these two would just get together already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot again, so sorry. I'm posting this with five minutes left of Wednesday, so it still counts, I guess.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and leaves a comment if you like, I always respond, and let me know what you think!


	11. Ice Cream Date Possibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has a talk with Collins, and when he comes home, Taylor's there waiting in her blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's today's update, woo! I hope you enjoy!!

_Earlier that evening_

The sky over head was starting to get darker, but it wasn’t there yet. It was still pastel blue and burning orange and touches of pink that reminded Mark of the flowers he sent his mom last year for her birthday. He’ll have to remember to send her another bunch soon, her birthday less than two months away.

The flicker of a street lamp brought him back to reality, as he walked alongside Collins, a few paces behind Roger. They’d been out a little while, hanging posters, showing them to people who passed, asking if they recognised her. Few did, and those who said they might couldn’t say when or where so it was no use. Roger was getting agitated; he’d stormed ahead, long heavy strides to break away from them. They only closed the space between the parties when Roger stopped to tape up a poster, but it widened again when Tom and Mark stopped.

At first, Mark tried to call out to his friend, shouting for him to calm down, that things would be okay, but he stopped quickly, knowing there was little point; Roger only listened when he wanted to, and he clearly didn’t want to. Mark stayed with Collins.

It was nice walking was his friend was nice, but he’d rather be walking with someone else.

His pace dwindled, he wobbled slightly as he walked and then came to a stop. “Mark, you alright boy?”

“Yeah, just thinking,” and he continued walking again, pace returning. Collins stopped, taping a poster to the side of a pay phone. They walked side by side again. “Do you think if I asked Taylor on a date, she’d say yes?”

Tom was startled by the sudden change in conversation; most of the night had been quite talking about past times, a few laughs but mostly hollow chuckles and tired smiles. The last half hour had been mostly silent, just talking to strangers walking by, but not to each other; they all felt defeated. He had watched Mark, looking around at people, at buildings, at the sky, just staring, not really paying attention to what was going on around him. He wanted to ask the boy if he was alright, but none of them were alright really. Mark looked distracted.

Mark kept his eyes down, hands in front of him, nervous habit. He’d been thinking about it for a while, but he needed a second opinion, as stupid as it sounded. He wanted to believe that maybe a guy like him would have a chance with a girl like her, and maybe if it was a film, they’d end up happy together, but it wasn’t. It was real life, real and shitty, but maybe he still had a chance. He’d thought about it probably more than he should’ve, but he couldn’t help it. They were always together, always so close, that it was hard to escape feelings that he thought he probably shouldn’t have, but he didn’t know why he shouldn’t have them because they felt so good, so right. She most likely had a type far different from him, most people did, and it was hard to think that, but he was a clever guy, he knew what he was talking about, so the, for lack of a better term, infatuation with her shouldn’t feel as good as it did, but it felt brilliant.

It was platonic, but waking up next to her in the morning was wonderful; to feel her against him, to know she was there and she hadn’t gotten bored of him, to know that she could sleep in total peace curled up against his body, them fitting together perfectly, was wonderful. When they’d sit on the fire escape together, wrapping in fabric, singing songs they loved at full volume, laughing at each other when the other got the words wrong or sang so far off key. When they’d go out together, looking for Mimi or just to get out of the apartment, and they'd walk so close to each other that their hands brushed, and he could feel the bumps and ridges of her knuckles against his. When they didn't have enough money and they'd have to manage with what food they already had, they'd sit together, picking at the floor on their shared plate.

It meant a lot to him to have moments like that, when he felt he didn't have to put up a wall to keep from feeling, to keep people out. He was still scared of her leaving, but he couldn't block out the bad without blocking out the good, and with her, everything felt so right, it was too hard to block it out, he couldn't do that. She meant too much to him.

It took moments of processing before Collins replied. “You want to ask her out?”

“Yeah.” He wanted to sound as confident as he had those moments ago, but his voice wobbled and he knew Collins heard. “Yeah, I do, I have for a while but...I didn't know if I'd be the right thing to do.”

“You should go for it.”

“You think? But what if she says no?”

“She won't.”

“You can't know that.”

“Look, trust me, ask her out, talk to her, tell her you like her.”

“I...I don't know how.”

“Sure you do, just sit her down, say ‘hey, I want to treat you, let's go on a date’, and you're sorted.”

“I can't treat her, I don't have the money. What am I supposed to do? I actually don't know if I can even afford for us to go on a date.”

“It's not about eating at a fancy restaurant, or going the moving, it's about spending time together, getting to know each other; being romantic doesn't need money. Taylor’s great, and I'm sure she would judge you if you said let's just take a walk and get ice cream.”

“It's too cold for ice cream.”

“You get my point.”

“I do. Do you...think asking her out is the right thing to do?”

“There isn't a right or wrong, only what you want.”

“But what if I fuck up?”

“How are you going to fuck it up Mark? What could you do?”

“I could say something, ask her out, and she turns me down, so...so offended that I say that.” Mark stopped walking, his hands now away from his body, moving in time with his speech, “Or things just become awkward and uncomfortable, then what do I do? What if she can’t stay in the same room as me after and leaves? “

“Does that really sound like Taylor to you? Do you really think she’d just up and leave, after everything the two of you have done for each other?” Collins stopped with him, standing in front of him. Mark shook his head, small shakes, almost embarrassed that he doubt her. “Exactly. Look,” and Tom stepped forward, gripping Mark’s arms, forcing the boy to look at him, “You’ve just got to go for it, trust me. Everything will be fine.”

Mark didn’t react at first, but eventually he nodded. He was right, that wasn’t Taylor, she wouldn’t do that, but he always was a pessimist at heart, only playing with that optimistic smile for others. Taylor saw the other side of him, the more genuine and miserable side of him, so he knew deep down she wouldn’t just leave.

“Now come on,” Tom said, and they started walking again. They couldn’t see Roger now, but knew he’d be ahead, down a side road, but easy to find. The sky had fallen to shades of navy, turning darker with passing seconds. The street lamps were turning on, often flickering before the light stayed a constant beam of yellow, the same yellow in every street lamp. Collins debated telling Mark why they were that shade, just for conversation, but there was no point. Mark had retracted into his bubble again, arms bent, hands together, fingers curling and twitching and interlocking with each other. Tom wanted to know what he was thinking, but he didn’t ask.

They caught up with Roger. He’d put up all posters he had, all but one that he kept folded in his pocket, pulling it out when people passed. But it was getting later, fewer people on the streets, fewer people sober enough to talk, people started drinking early in NYC. Roger had this look in his eyes; he was tired, physically and mentally and emotionally, but his eyes alight, burning and with no sign of letting up soon, they were sunken but bright, but it was clear he needed sleep, a good night of uninterrupted sleep.

“I’m going to head back,” Collins said, “But I’ll stop in and see Taylor, bring her something to eat, see how she’s feeling. You two staying out?”

“I am,” Roger replied with no hesitation.

“I’ll stay too, if you want.” He turned to Roger.

The songwriter shrugged, “I don’t care, do whatever.” Mark was struggling to take the hostility; one thing Taylor had done, which wasn’t always for the good, was make him more stubborn, less tolerant of bullshit in general. He let it slide, he was tired, he was stressed, but weren't they all?

“I’ll stay.” Collins nodded in response.

“Alright, well, I’ll see you both tomorrow. Goodnight and good luck.” Tom waved them off as he turned and followed his steps back. He stopped at a corner shop. He didn’t have much money, but he didn’t mind spending it on her, so he bought a sandwich and one of those large chocolate bars designed for more than one person, but he knew he could finish something like that, and had no doubt she could do the same. He knew it wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be something.

Mark and Roger walked away, planning on asking more people and searching more side streets as best they could. Mark hated that this had somehow become routine to him now, that he didn’t even need to think about where he was going, that his feet just carried him on the standard trajectory, allowing his eyes more freedom to look down streets, behind dumpsters, instead of looking where each foot was going. He hated that he knew the names of the small back alleys, where they led, especially since he’d lived in New York for years and never knew, but now he did.

There was a small knot in his stomach regarding what he’d said to Collins, considering he’d left to go see her. He had faith that nothing would be said, yet something still made him nervous, still wanting to know what kind of conversation they’d have without him, but he had faith, so it’d alright.

When he snapped himself out of his head, something he found himself having to do more and more often, especially when Taylor was on his mind, he found Roger looking at him, a pace or two ahead again, looking back with furrowed brows. The way he walked, hands buried deep in pockets and shoulders pulled forward, with the collar on his leather jacket turned up against what wind there was, enough to ruffle hair but to keep his scarf in firm place, Mark couldn’t tell if the look was disapproving or confused, or something else. Roger hadn’t heard their conversation before, so why he was making whatever face he was making was unbeknownst to Mark, but it didn’t help the already slight uneasiness in his abdomen.

# # # # # #

It was even later when they arrived home. The sky was black and grey and that muddy brown colour that in turned in combination with clouds and light pollution. Mark was freezing, he wasn’t sure about Roger, and his feet were tired; they’d been walking for hours, walking then stopping then walking then stopping, and he was truly exhausted in every sense. He started taking off layers but didn’t get far, only unwrapping his scarf before realising he was still far too cold to take any layers off. The scarf was still slightly damp from the rain, and there were still droplets on the lenses of his glasses, and his hair still retained more water than any of his clothes.

As soon as they’d gotten through the door, Roger was off, sticking his head into Taylor’s room, and then he was in. Mark assumed she mustn't be in there, or he doubted he’d just walk in. He thought about saying maybe he shouldn’t sleep in there, but where else was he supposed to sleep? The couch? The floor? Mark wouldn’t do that to him, so he let it be, that, and he was far too tired to argue with anyone.

He walked to their bedroom, finding the living room empty, treading as lightly as he could to minimise any squeeks that my leak from the floorboards. He found her sat up, awake, still in her burrito state.

“Hi,” he said, drawing her attention out of the book she had in her hands, and their eyes found each other.

“Hey.”

“You feeling better?”

“Definitely, yeah. How was out?”

“The usual, cold and tiring, but we got a lot of the posters, all the ones we took out at least, but we left at few at Collins’ to put up tomorrow; you can help if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Yeah, of course. Now come sleep, you look like you’re about to fall over you’re that tired.”

“You may be right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Shut up.” He smiled and walked into the room, closing the door behind. He started taking his coat off. “Did Collins’ make it round?”

“Yeah, brought me a sandwich and some chocolate; made sure to save you some.” He pulled his jumper off over his head, the sleeves pulling inside out, glasses being knocked and hair now ruffled and static from wool.

“You didn’t need too.” He kicked off his shoes and undid his belt, pulling it loose from the belt loops.

“I wanted to you idiot.” He pulled his jeans off, twisting around his ankles. The cold hit him suddenly. He changed from his undershirt to his pajama shirt. Taylor, shifting quickly, unwrapped herself from the blankets and duvet, creating a space next to her for him to sit and lay. He smiled as he snuggled under layers, staying close to her.

“Thank you.” His voice suddenly seemed much quieter, smaller than it had moments ago. “You’re really warm.”

“And you’re cold.” The way they sat together, she moved only slightly to place her hand on his back, under the layer of shirt. He flinched from the unexpected skin against his, but her hands were warm and he settled against her palm quickly. They laid down, facing each other. “I’ll save the chocolate for tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Mark chuckled, then twisted to his back, looked at the ceiling. Taylor laid on her side, curling against him, her other hand across his stomach and torso; she could feel his ribs under the skin, and she found her fingers moving across them before she registered what she was doing.

They were always close, but her hands had never brushed against the bare skin of his chest, but it felt so right, giving him butterflies in his stomach. His heart was beating so fast, so rapid that it was losing rhythm, just becoming his pounding in his chest that he wished would never leave. Her head rest on his shoulder, and his arms snaked themselves comfortably around her frame. It felt so right. He could use this opportunity now to ask her, but he knew it wasn’t the time; tomorrow, he thought, if the day went well and they both felt well, and then it’d all be okay.

“You comfortable?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled down at her, then stretched his neck forward and planted a kiss against her hair.

She returned the smile and settled back against him. Something about it felt suddenly much more intimate to her, knowing her feelings for him, but she enjoyed his company, his warmth and his presence. She knew the feelings were there to stay for some time, so trying to avoid their usual interaction would be effort and ultimately make her far more miserable. She would learn and the only way to do it was to put herself in the situations. Though it didn’t feel like she was putting herself in anything, just allowing in the best way. She could, in a way, at least pretend that this would be what it was like to be with him, someone so kind, genuine and pure that she would do anything for. She could pretend that it felt this good to lay against someone you loved and to just breathe with them, to know that they breathe with you, against your skin, lungs under fingertip and breath on skin.

It was quite between them. His breathing fell into deep, stable breaths, and she could feel the rise and fall. She heard footsteps occasionally passing the door, and she assumed it was Roger; who else would it be? It didn’t take her long to fall asleep again, despite the many thoughts and feelings floating around her head. She could deal with it another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is!
> 
> AND OMG I'M NEARLY FINISHED WRITING THIS STORY!! I mean, I still have the epilogues, but chapter 12 is nearly done, and I'm honestly so happy. It was definitely a challenge to write some parts, and you'll see what I mean in a couple weeks, but is was difficult at times, like, it's different to how I normally write, but I'm actually super proud with how it's turned out so far!
> 
> Also....THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT!! It means a lot, the comments and kudos and all, so thank you so much!


	12. Everything Will Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Taylor in New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO ACTUALLY FINISHED THE STORY?!? Like, I finished it the night I posted the last chapter, and it felt sooo good to finish it. I'm honestly super proud of myself that I've stuck with it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

She pulled herself out of bed and immediately wobbled, bracing herself on the wall. The fever had passed, thank god, she thought as she stumbled out of the room. She’d woken up alone. She stuck her head in the doorway of her bedroom and found the room empty. Roger must be out already, despite the early time. She wandered in, scanning the surrounding, but everything was in place, so she called out.

“Mark?” From behind her, she heard things fall, bottles falling from the shower in the bathroom; she only then noticed the faint sound of the water falling. She turned in the direction of the door.

“Hang on, hang on,” he called back, muffled by the water and door.

“I don’t need you, relax, just wondering if you were here.”

“I’m here.” His voice sounded tired, like in worry or panic, almost strained but not. “I can be out soon.”

“No rush, take your time.” She wandered to the kitchen, turning the coffee maker on and it gurgled away, hot water draining through the coffee powder; she’d allow herself this one luxury, good coffee that is, and Mark didn’t seem to mind that. There was still often enough food for the two of them, but it wasn’t always the nicest, or the warmest, but she had good coffee and that was important to her. They had no milk, and the fidge was nearly void of edible food so she knew she’d have to go and get something or they’d go to bed hungry. At least they still had chocolate.

Mark let out a tense breath from the bathroom. Jesus he needs to be careful, he thought, at least remember to lock the goddamned door. He let go of himself, not having the nerve to finish now. He breathed, taking in deep, humid lung fulls. The warm water continued to fall over him as he regained a stable mind and heart rate, and he proceeded to wash the shampoo out of his hair and wash his face. He managed to calm himself down, and even though he knew she was only a door away, he risked it, know she wouldn’t barge in. It was almost embarrassing how quick he managed to finish himself off, trying to keep his moans as quiet as possible. He stepped out and dried off, fumbling around to dress in a mildly presentable manner; he thought he would have learnt to not leave his glasses in the bathroom when he showered, yet somehow he had not. He managed clean boxers and a jumper before he stumbled out of the room, the towel draped across his head and shoulders, glasses now on his face but still steamed.

Movement caught his eyes and it was Taylor. She had her back to him, stood at the sink in her own world; he could hear the faint melodies escaping her lips as she sang. He couldn’t place the song yet it somehow seemed familiar to him, or maybe it was her voice that held the familiarity and comfort that he was recognising, her voice always carrying so elegantly, whether in the apartment, on the fire escape, or walking the streets, singing and running and laughing and dancing in the middle of the road at night when no one could tell them to stop. Her soft vocal tone was reminiscent of the feeling of when he was young and his mother would heat his pajamas on the radiator before bed, the feeling of being surrounded by warmth and never wanting to leave. She seemed much better than she did yesterday, giving off a more positive energy that even he could feel from this distance.

He stook a few more steps towards her, and she turned, only now hearing him. “Oh, hey,” she said with a smile. Her hands were engulfed with bubbles, fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug. “I was just washing up. No milk, so the coffee will have to be black.”

“That’s fine. Roger not up yet?”

“No, he is, he just isn’t here. Looks like he’s already gone out.”

“Really? He usually sleeps in till noon.”

“These aren’t usual circumstances though.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

She rinsed his mug and set in aside. He decided he’d make himself useful before putting pants on for the day, and he walked over to dry the mug and the other pieces next to it: a few glasses, old cutlery and one plate with a distinct chip taken out from when he’d dropped it over a year ago. Taylor smiled a thank you in his direction.

“What time should we go out today? We still have posters to put up, and we need to get food and other stuff.”

“Whenever honestly. I do need to stop at Buzzline, pick up some of my stuff; probably should’ve done it yesterday, but I really didn’t want to go back.”

“I’ll come with you, if you want, go there after Tom’s.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“...thanks.”

She smiled again and drained the sink, everything clean, and Mark finished drying the last few pieces of kitchenware. She took his mug and hers, pouring in the hot liquid. “Sugar?” And he nodded in response. The clinking of the spoon on the porcelain echoed around the apartment, and she handed him his drink.

“Thanks.”

They talked a little, looking at each other over the brims on their mugs and through the steam as they leaned back on the counter or sat on the coffee table. Mark found himself zoning out sometimes, focused more on the tone of her voice and not the words she was saying. When they finished their drinks, she dressed and so did he. They pulled on coats, layers of warmth, before bracing themselves for the outside world yet again. He made sure to grab his bag before they left, but chose to leave his camera at home.

And they walked to Tom’s, still talking, smiling, laughing. It was cold but bright out, the air was cutting but still polluted. The streets were quieter than Taylor had expected them to be. They took the poster from Tom when they got there, and he wished them luck, and that he’d be out later tonight to help search as they always did. They stuck the pieces of paper to any flat surface they could find that hadn’t already had one plastered across it’s surfaces, and they walked.

The Buzzline building in corporate America was loud and overcrowded and she didn’t like it; she could see why Mark wanted to get out. The security guard at the front desk let them upstairs, gave them twenty minutes for Mark to find what he needed then to leave again. He wanted to avoid as many people as he could, hoping no one who ask why he quit, because he was a terrible liar and he didn’t want to have to tell people he didn’t like them to their face. He made Taylor wait outside the room while he grabbed what he was after.

He was incredibly luck they let him back in the building to get this because he’d spent so long working on the stupid film and if they didn’t let get it now, he honestly would’ve sank to the ground and cried. In the middle of the lobby. A balling mess of tears. How embarrassing. He made Taylor wait outside because he hadn’t actually told her it was finished, only that it was close, and he wanted to surprise her with the finished product. They’d known each other for only a few months, but she was in clips, not all, not the majority, but she was there in prominent frames, smiling or laughing, in one clip, hitting Collin’s round the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper; Mark couldn’t even remember why she did that, but it made him laugh every time. There was also a few clips of himself in there, ones that Roger had filmed before he’d left, and when he’d stolen the camera right out of his hands or his bag. There was one she’d filmed, back in the December snow, and she was paces behind, and she was holding his bag, he couldn’t remember why, and he was being an idiot and spinning and looking up at the falling snow, letting it smear across his glasses. Then he noticed her filming and stopped. She caught up and he wrestled the camera from her grip, getting blurred frames of his face and the building before focusing back on her face, her hair littered with white, chuckly flakes, and she was laughing, then took off running. He followed her with the camera. All that was in the film too.

He safely tucked the film reel into his bag and they left the building, plenty of time to spare, and they were assaulted by the cold January winds again. And they walked again.

“I was thinking,” she said, after they’d falling back into territory they knew well, “that we should put up a poster in the community centre, you know, the one with the Life Support meetings.”

“Yeah, sounds a good idea.” They pushed forward in that direction, and they eventually reached the building, but Mark wouldn’t go in. “I can’t,” he explained. “I just...it’s been so long, and I wouldn’t know what to say or where to look.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Just wait here, I won’t be long.” She walked into the building. At least she knew who she was looking for, what he looked like and where he could be found. Their timing meant they’re just missed a meeting, lucky for Mark, she thought, so Paul was still in the main hall, moving a few final chairs the the stack at the side.

“Hello,” she called out, and he turned.

“Oh, hi, sorry, you just missed the meeting, but there’ll be another one tomorrow, just come at the start of the hour.”

“I’m not here for the meetings, sorry.” She walked further into the space and he walked towards her. She extended a hand to him and they shook. “My name’s Taylor, I’m a friend of Mark Cohen’s.”

“Oh yes, I thought you looked familiar. I’m Paul. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him in quite some time, how is he?”

“Good at the moment, ups and downs like everyone else, but he’s been doing really well.”

“I’m glad to hear. Now, how can I help?”

“Right, our friend, Mimi, she’s gone missing, and I was just wondering if we could put a poster up in here, or we could give you one or two just to keep in the building?”

“Of course you can. How long has she been missing?”

“Since before Christmas. Have you seen her?” Taylor handed over two or three posters and he looked at them before shaking his head.

“No, sorry.”

“Could you put them up in here? Just so if people have they know who to contact.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, always here to help people when I can.” He walked to the notice board and pinned on one of the posters up, and Taylor turned and started to walk out, but he called out for her. She turned back to face him. “When you next see Mark, tell him he’s still welcome here if he ever wants to come. I know it wasn’t easy for him sometimes, but the group is welcome to anyone and everyone, you can come too if you want, but make sure he knows he’s always welcome.”

“I will, thank you.” And she left. When she walked back out, Mark was sat on the stone steps, a yawn across his face, but as soon as he saw her, he sprung to his feet, ready to get moving again.

“Everything go okay?” He asked as they started away from the building.

“Yeah, Paul put one up on the board, said he’d help any way he can. He also told me to tell you that you’re always welcome.”

“He said that?”

“He did. He asked me how you were since he hasn’t seen you in a while and for me to tell you you’re always welcome.”

Mark just nodded, looking down or looking ahead, so she allowed the conversation to fall empty, he clearly wasn’t comfortable and she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so they walked for a while in silence. Conversation eventually made an appearance again, when Mark asked how she was feeling after yesterday, and their normal flow and relaxed vocalised thoughts returned. They Sellotaped the remaining posted to lamp posts and pay phone and managed to stick one or two in shop windows until they ran out. Taylor didn’t know if running out was a good thing or not; they got all the flyers up, so that increased their chances of hear news about Mimi, but then it just goes back to walking around the city when it’s late and cold and wet, and it somehow felt like that wasn’t enough any more.

They reacher the store, handing the shop owner the last poster they had, and picked up the essentials they needed: bread, milk, beer, something to last them at least tonight, some food for tomorrow, nothing fancy or of any above average quality, but it was food, and that was the most important thing. Taylor paid, and she could see the look in Mark’s eyes and she knew something wasn’t right,so she waited until they were a good distance from the shop until she asked.

“Mark, you okay?” Since they’d left the shop, he hadn’t spoken, and he had this look on his face like he was thinking, but also like he’d smelled something unpleasant; his nose was slightly scrunched, pushing his glasses up to partially cover his eyebrows more than usual. His eyebrows were furrowed too, faint lines forming across his forehead. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her. “Mark?” He still didn’t respond, so she nudged him slightly, and he looked up at her with wide, surprised eyes and lips slightly parted.

“Hmm?”

“I said, are you alright?”

“Just…”

“Talk to me.”

“You buying the food, not that I really have a problem with that, you’ve always bought food and so have I, but, like, now I can’t, not really, not when my money runs out.”

“It’s not your money and my money, it’s our money, okay?”

“But now it’s only you supporting both of us. I feel terrible that I can’t help anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter if you buy the food or not, I don’t care. It may not be ideal, I’m not going to lie, but I don’t care. If I had to choose between being broken most of the time, sacrificing my goddamn coffee, and have you in my life, or living with a full stocked fridge, I’d choose you, every time, so don’t worry. We’ll manage, we will, I promise.”

He looked at her, but he didn’t seem convinced. He had some money set aside, money he kept hidden safe for emergencies, but how was he supposed to be even a slightly acceptable boyfriend if he can’t afford to buy her flowers, or take her out for dinner? He mentally chuckled, a small smile across his lip, barely noticeable, because he’d never said the word boyfriend to himself in reference to her before. How strange, he thought, but it sounded right; it was what he wanted so badly, for her to be his, for him to be hers, and he knew it could be perfect.

“Hey,” she said, and his eyes found hers once again, “It’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, yeah it will.” 

He knew this wouldn’t go away, the feeling of him being a burden and a dead weight, but if she said it’d be okay, then it would. He trusted every word she said like it was gospel, like she could really see the future and she really knew that it’ll all be okay in the end. His faint in her had never been so strong, and he couldn’t fathom anything in the world that could make that faith falter.

He was going to ask her out, or at least tell her how he felt, express it the best he could and hope she’d understand. When he was feeling terrible, like dirt, like...like he didn’t want to go one, she was always there, so maybe, even if things went terribly wrong, which he thought they would, they maybe she could still help pick him up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I have exams right now, so the epilogues are having to wait a bit, so they might not come out when they should, so after chapter 12, the next and FINAL CHAPTER IN THE MAYLOR STORY, there might be a bit of a wait, but I'll get them out as soon as I can, I promise.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in a comment, or leave kudos, any support is majorly appreciated!


	13. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe things will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the final chapter. There will be epilogues, but the main story, the story of Mark and Taylor, of our beloved Maylor, is over. I've had a really good time writing this, and I'm so attached to Taylor, like, she'd my girl, I love her, so it's kind of sad to see it end, but they will live on.

They reached the building and as she was opening the door, he called out. “I might go for a walk, get some thoughts in order. I need to work through some stuff in my head. Can you manage without me for a bit?” He added some sarcasm on the end for good measure.

“I’ll survive, don’t work. We’ll have a late lunch-early dinner kind of thing, so try not to be too long, but sort out what you need; come back when you’re ready.” He handed her the back he was carrying, and held the door open for her. She thanked him, and made her way upstairs. He listened as the door slowly shut on it’s old and rusty hinges, and he could hear the echo of her footsteps. When the door shut, he started again, continuing on in the direction they’d been travelling.

He was going to tell her, he was, he just needed to figure out when and where and how. He had to to it right, it had to be perfect, she deserved that much. He just hated that he couldn’t give her the absolute perfect dream; he wanted to take her out to dinner, buy her flowers, to be able to wear something that made him look smart and charming and everything she wants but he couldn’t, he didn’t have the money. Maybe it wouldn’t matter that much, and she wouldn’t care, but he did. She deserved all that he could give her.

They’d known each other for less than half a year, but, as cliche as it was, he’d felt he’d known her all his life, at least in certain ways. They were so close, he could tell her thinks he’d never tell Roger or Collins or Maureen, and he couldn’t fathom a future without her in it. She’d done so much for him, listened to him when he needed to talk, held him when he needed to cry; she’d stay with him when was lonely, when he felt alone, and she helped remind him that he wasn’t, that he had someone, that he had her.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but he was eternally grateful.

# # # # # #

She walked up the stairs, struggling to slide open the door with full hands, but she managed, and slide it closed behind her with her foot. The first thing she noticed was Roger; he was back, sat, spralwed on the couch, playing guitar. He looked up when he saw her come in, before quickly turning back to his instrument, trying to pretending like he never saw her, thought it didn’t work. His finger slipped, and his messed up a note, he’d tried to play it off, like it was supposed to sound like that, but it didn’t.

He didn’t speak to her as she went and set the bags on the kitchen counter, and began unpacking and storing the foods where they belonged. He continued to play quietly, fingerpicking each string with clear precision. She scrunched up the empty paper bags and set them aside, incase then needed something extra to get a fire going, and started to head to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway. She could see one of Mark’s jumpers, and she realised that bad blood between her and Roger would be hard on Mark, and that wasn’t fair. She also knew she crossed a line the other day, and wanted to at least try to make amends.

“Hey Roger, can we talk?” Taylor turned to face him, still in the doorway.

“What do we have to talk about?” He stopped playing, setting his guitar to the side before standing and going to the fridge. When he head came back out, he held a beer. He popped off the cap.

“I...I wanted to say sorry. I was an ass, and said some stuff that, just, didn’t need to be said.” She’d gained his full attention, and she continued. “I shouldn’t’ve said some of those things; I know leaving Mark mustn’t of been easy for you, and I’m sure there was more going on than I know about, I just felt attacked and returned it, sorry.”

He took a drink from his beer, like he was processing all that she’d said. She added on, “I was an ass, but so were you.” He chuckled slightly; she wasn’t wrong. He had attacked her, he had tried to get a rise out of her. It worked, clearly, but it wasn’t right.

“Yeah, well...I’m sorry to. I shouldn’t said what I said either. You felt attacked because that’s what I was doing, I just...I came back from New Mexico, and I thought everything would be the same, ad I come back and Mark’s living with you so quickly and I just sort of, felt replaced. I thought if I got you angry enough, you wouldn’t want to stick around while I was here, and things would go back to how they were before.” He didn’t look at her the entire time he spoke, he wasn’t able to.

“You weren’t replaced, I could never replace you. I moved in so soon because Mark didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t know how to cope, but it wasn’t to replace you. I never thought I’d get this close to Mark, but you’re his best friend, his oldest friend, all the way from Scarsdale, and you couldn’t just be replaced. I…” She didn’t quite know where she was going with the last sentence, but just let her mouth speak before her brain would fully process it all. “I was concerned that when you came back, I’d just be forgotten, that things would go back to the way they were before me, and Mark would just forget about me because he had you back. I guess I got sort of defensive, I just don’t want to lose him.”

She could feel herself getting worked up, and she didn’t want that. She turned away, intending to hide in the bedroom, but Roger called out to her. “I’m sorry, this thing with Mimi and you being here just got me stressed, but I really have nothing against you; you make Mark happy, and that’s so important. He could never forget you.” He held out his hand to her, and she walked over and shook it. “We okay?” He smiled, hopeful.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” and she smiled back. He chuckled, and she could tell it was a nervous chuckle, or more accurately, a laugh that relaxed him, releasing the nervousness that remained within him, and we walked back over to the couch, setting his beer on the table. He picked up his guitar.

# # # # # #

Mark returned after a while, and they ate lunch together, the three of them. When he walked in the door, the last thing he expected to see was Taylor and Roger sat together on the couch, talking, with Taylor holding Roger’s guitar; he hardly let anyone touch it, and considering those two had been arguing and shouting the building down just days before...Mark was surprised.

“Urm, hi,” he said when he walked in.

“Oh hey Mark, I was wondering when you’d get back,” Taylor replied. She handed the guitar back to Roger and she stood. She walked over to him. “You okay? You look confused.” She angled her head down, looking up at him with her eyes as she placed hands on either arm.

“Yeah, yeah, just you and Roger?”

“We’re cool now, sort of, hashed it out I guess.”

“We talked,” he contributed from across the room, “And everything was explained and now it’s all okay; we both said things we didn’t mean because we were both being jerks, but it’s all good now.” He set his guitar down and went to the fridge. “Beer?”

“Please,” and he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck, then took of his coat.

They ate lunch, and they talked and they laughed and everything seemed okay, at least for a little while. But it started to get dark, another reminder that Mimi was still out there, in the cold, alone. They all stood and starting putting on jackets and coats, before they heard a bellowing shout from outside.

“Mark! Taylor! Roger!” They ran to the fire escape, quickly filing through the window at the sound of Maureen’s desperate voice. She stood there, Joanne and Collins behind, and Mimi in the Tom’s arms, “We can’t get her up the stairs! Hurry up, please!”

The three of them moved, Roger the first to bolt through the opening and the other two just following in equally frantic steps. They reached the street, and Roger moved under one of her arms to support her, and Mark took a hold of her legs, and Taylor held open the door with Maureen, letting them through. Clambering up the stairs was difficult, but they managed into the apartment.

“Put her on the table,” Taylor called as she followed behind them. She ran past them when they were in the apartment, grabbing a blanket off the couch, and her and Joanne spread the fabric across the cold metal surface, Maureen swiping away bits of food and paper to the floor amd grabbing a pillow. Roger set her down as carefully as he could, Mimi barely staying conscious.

“You’re back,” she said, staring up at Roger’s face. She looked sick, so pale and sweaty, but so clearly freezing cold.

“We need some heat,” Mark said,

“I’ll get some wood, grab some food,” replied Taylor.

“No time,” Tom said, picking up the phone, “I’ll calling 911.”

They were all so helpless, watching Mimi stroke Roger’s face, so weak and tired, and it just broke their hearts. Collins was on the phone, but they didn’t really hear what he was saying. They found each other though; Joanne and Maureen found themselves together on the window ledge, Joanne with her arms around the other’s shoulders, holding her close, and Mark had come up behind Taylor, first draping an arm across her shoulders, and when she looked up at him, she wrapped her arms around his stomach, her body at an angle against his, still watching Roger and Mimi.

Tom got off the phone and wandered to them all, stood by the window. Then she stopped moving, her eyes closed, she went slack in his arms. The worst had happened. Taylor curling into Mark, burying her face in the material of his sweater as she began to sob as quietly as she could. His arms came around her shoulders and held her so close. Collins rested a hand against Mark’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, but it only made him tremble more, closer to the edge. His breathing became more shallow, erratic, but he had to hold it together.

Then Roger starting singing, quite gentle tones of sweet words. It must’ve been a song he wrote while he was away, because Mark was unfamiliar with the word, and they so perfectly referenced her; her eyes in the moonlight, the longing to hold her in his arms one more time, how he’d do anything for one more day, how he’d die for one more day.

“I should tell you, I should tell you, I have always loved you. You can see it in my eyes.” His voice wavered, his eyes...he was crying, he was a mess, but what else was to be expected in a time like this? He cried out her name, so desperate, so hoping that this wasn’t real. Then the room fell quiet, the only sounds filling the room were quite sobs from everybody. Mark had to look away, he couldn’t watch this. Taylor fisted handfuls of his jumper, which only made it worse for him. Tom couldn’t drag his eyes away, but he wasn’t sure why. Maureen stared into the distance and Joanne buried her face in Maureen’s hair.

This...this felt like the end.

 

 

 

A twitch in a hand. A cough. Roger calls out to her, and they all gather round, hopeful, so hopeful. And then she sits up, looking around confused, dazed, and she turned to look at them. “I was heading towards this warm, white light, and I swear Angel was there,” and she turned to Tom, who smiled so lovingly, “And she looked good!” earning laughs from them all. “And she said, ‘turn around girlfriend, and listen to that boy’s song’.”

Roger’s face lit up, and he pulled her close to her, hands either side of her face, resting their foreheads together, sharing small and gentle kisses.

“You’re drenched,” he said.

“And your fever’s breaking,” Maureen added, holding her hand against Mimi’s forehead. They were all so overwhelmed, so thankful for her to be her and be alive.

“I think we all need a drink,” Tom said, earning laughs and hums of agreement, before walking over to the fridge.

“Good thing we stocked up on alcohol.” Taylor smiled. He face was still red and blotchy, a few tears still on her face, but her breathing was stable.

“Who wants what?” He called from inside the fridge.

“A beer for me,” said Mark.

“And me,” Taylor added.

“You have any Stoli?” Roger asked, and when Mark said they did, he settled on a glass. Mimi, Maureen and Joanne ended up opting out, despite some original agreements. Tom came back with three beers and a Stoli in a mug, handing them to respectives, keeping a beer for himself.

“A toast,” he said, “To good people, good friends, and to true love.”

They cheered, smiling and those with drinks drank. “Mark,” Tom continued, “I think they would never be a better time to see that film of yours.”

There was unanimous agreement, and Mark hesitantly walked to his projector, and the film began playing. He walked back to join them. The film was not what any of them expected. They expected a film with narration done by Mark himself, played over clips of the homeless, and interview type segments, but instead it was clips of them throughout the past year and half, two years. They were talking and laughing and smiling and dancing and singing and being themselves. Taylor spotted a few clips of her and Mark in there, and she smiled as she leaned against him. There was a sense of family in the air, this warmth spread through them despite the near tragedy they all faced.

The film ended but they didn’t speak for a while, all just holding onto each other in some way. Joanne spoke eventually; “I, urm, hate to leave so early, but I have court tomorrow morning.”

“I should go too,” Maureen added.

“I’ll walk out with you.” Tom downed the rest of his bottle before setting it empty in the table.

“We should get you downstairs to sleep.” Roger helped her up, and arm around her waist and her around his shoulders. “I’m going to sleep there tonight,” addressing Mark and Taylor, who understood and smiled.

They all said goodbyes, exchanging hugs and kisses between them all, and soon, it was only Mark and Taylor that remained in the apartment. She moved to pick up Tom’s empty beer bottle, but Mark got to it first, putting it in the bin.

“She’s finally safe,” Taylor said, jumping up onto the metal table Mimi was laying only moments ago, sliding the blanket aside.

“Yeah, it’s almost weird to think, considering how long she’d been missing, but I’m glad she back and safe.”

“Me too. And what Tom said, about true love and all, it was a nice little speech.”

Mark nodded. He could do it now. They were alone and it felt right, at least to him it did, but he was the other side of the room, he’d back out of it if he just went for it. He’d slowly get closer, see at what point she moved away. He also suddenly realised he still had his coat on, and proceeded to take it off, Taylor seemingly realising the same thing and taking hers off too, throwing it onto the couch from what she sat.

“It seems so quiet in here now,” she said as an off hand comment.

“Yeah.” He threw his coat on top of hers, and he not sat facing her, leaning against the arm of the couch. “You still have, urm, tears..on your face.” She quickly brought her hand up to wipe her face. He found himself walking to her, and not thinking, brought his hand to her face to wipe away the tear tracks she missed. His hand lingered against her cheek, and she looked at him, scanning his eyes. They fluttered down to his lips, then back up again, and Mark couldn’t help but notice it, and he thought if he didn’t do it now, he may never work up the courage again. He leaned in rather suddenly, preventing him from changing his own mind, and their lips made contact.

There was nothing for a moment, and a twist formed in his stomach; he’d made the wrong choice after all, he knew he would, and he went to pull away, but then her lips moved against his, and her hands grabbed hold of his jumper, pulling him closer, his body between her legs. Then he was shocked, unmoving for a few seconds, before his brain began to function again, and his lips started moving. A rhythm was formed, comfortable movements of hands and lips and tongues, working together and against each other. This was what Mark wanted, one of the things he wanted at least, them together and it to mean something like this, and it was better than he’d imagined. He was too hot and sweaty for once in the winter of NYC, with his chest flush against hers, and his hand against her neck, angling themselves for better access. Her legs came up and became wrapped around his legs; he had no means of escape now.

It soon got more and more heated, faster and faster, but Mark had to stop himself first. He pulled away so suddenly, a string of saliva between their parted lips, their breathing deep but uneven.

“You...you didn’t…” He said, just managing to get words from his brain to his mouth to make sound.

“I didn’t what?” Her voice and tone were much more composed than his, her breathing more controlled.

“You didn’t pull away, you didn’t reject me.”

“Oh Mark, that would be the last thing I’d do.”

“But...is this pity? A heat of the moment mistake?” She brought a hand to his face, her palm resting so gently against his skin. She was hurt he’d even consider that.

“Mark, no, I...I care about you so much.” She leaned forward, resting her head against his chest. She couldn’t look at him to say this, not now and not yet. “I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted you, for so long, and now I’m scared that I’ll fuck up, I’ve been to scared to do anything for that reason for a while, because you mean too much to me that without you in my life, I wouldn’t know what to do, I just…” Her words left her then, not finding the right ones to explain what was in her heart, but he seemed to understand, somehow, as his brought her face up to look at his, his thumb brushing against her cheek as his fingers became tangled with her hair.

“I, urm, I feel the same.” He had a small smile across his face, so genuine, scared and loving at the same time, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. He looked down, just seeing his body held in place with her legs around him, staring at the rips on the thigh of her jeans and the fade of the denim. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to now, as she angled her head and caught his lips in her, bringing him back up.

They both just melted into each other, molding perfectly to fit. She pawed at his jumper, moving her hands to the front, pulling at it to get him somehow closer, but they were already impossibly close, two bodies against each other, sweating and hot but enjoying every second. Her hand drifted, slipping under the knitted fabric, her palm on his stomach and fingers curling around his slide. Movements were heated and almost frantic, desperate to get at each other, to have each other, but everything was meant, founded in affection and passion.

Mark seemed to get the message, breaking contact which neither were happy with, evident by the quiet groan of disapproval that escaped Taylor’s lips, but a smile spread across her face when he started taking off his jumper, pulling it over his head. He knocked his glasses and his hair was ruffled, but she pulled him back into her, faces so close, and she straightened the frames, giddy smiles across both their faces. She ran her hands through his hair, their lips ghosting across each other, hot breaths tangling, before pulling herself back and pulling her own sweatshirt off.

Their lips reconnected, her hands roaming across his neck and bare shoulders, and his hesitantly settling on her waist. She could feel the hesitation in his fingertips, just brushing lightly against her skin. “Mark, don’t think,” she said, barely breaking contact, just speaking words at the lips pulled apart, “Just do. Touch me.” He moaned more than he should’ve at that last sentence, he knew that, but he just couldn’t help it. She swallowed around the sound. She used her legs, still wrapped around his body, to pull herself closer, pushing her hips into him and making small rotations, earning another moan from him, louder and deeper than before. His hands pulled at her now, his fingered digging in. They were getting sloppy, getting louder with moans and groans, just increasing the heat every times.

Taylor pushed him back and he stumbled, unexpected. She jumped down from the table, walking up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down. She drifted from his lips to his jawline, down his neck to his collarbone. His head fell back, holding tight to her body and more sounds escaped his lips. There was an increasing tightness in his pants that he knew needed to be dealt with; he made small thrusting movements into her, and he could feel her smile against his collar. Her fingers dragged down his chest, and he could feel her nails digging in, leaving marks, and her fingers hooked onto the belt loops of his jeans. She gave one, strong tuck against them, pulling him into her, and he groaned.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom?” She whispered in his in his ear. He twisted his head to catch her lips, moving his hands to the small of her back. He spoke between kisses.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea.” She pulled back, unlooping her fingers and taking his hands in hers, pulling him along to the bedroom. He allowed himself to be dragged along, smiling away, even though it was becoming increasingly tighter in his pants.

He barely managed to get through the doorway before he was pushed up against the wall, Taylor kicking the door closed behind them. She went back to his collar bone, biting down in a line, and Mark’s head fell back against the wall; he wasn’t even attempting to be quiet anymore, not bothering to suppress the moans as she left a trail across his body.

“Taylor,” he panted out, breathless, and she stopped, “Please.” She knew exactly what he was referring too, and she pushed her body completely up against him, grinding her hips him into his, and he knees buckled slightly. He grabbed onto her shoulders a little harder, but she was there to catch him, to support him when he slipped. Regaining his composure, he looked at her, drawing a hand to her face. “What have I ever done to deserve you Taylor Murphy?”

“You were yourself Mark Cohen, an utterly stunning man.” They both laughed, though she meant what she said, every word she’d ever said to him she meant. He kissed her again, holding her face between his hands, still smiling. Pulling back, he watched her bite her lower lip. “You know,” she said, her voice low, close to his ear, “I think this is going to be a good night.” Her hands moved down from his sides to the front of his trousers, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper. Mark took in a deep gulp of air with the decrease of pressure and tightness, his head falling forwards, leaning against hers. He turned to face inwards, kissing down her neck, but his breath hitched when her hand slide in between him and the fabric of his boxers, taking a hold and running a finger along him.

“I think you may be right.”

# # # # # #

Mark woke up the next morning with a weight against him, and Taylor’s arm was slung across his chest. He instantly smiled, thinking of her and the night just gone, and oh how wonderful of a night it was. He looked over to her sleeping form, curled up against his arm and it made his heart warm. A low and quiet chuckled came over him, and she stirred, snuggling up further, before her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” he said, stretching over and kissing the top of her head.

“It is indeed.” He could feel her lips against his skin. Her body shifted, their tangled legs moving together, her bare stomach against his pelvis, and he hummed in pleasure. The room was quiet for some time after that, until she spoke again, her tone different. “Does this feel...weird to you?”

“Weird how?” Maybe she’d gotten smart, realised her mistake from the night before. She was going to explain that it was weird, they were only friends, it wasn’t supposed to be like this between them.

She could tell what he was thinking. “No, no, not like that. I like this, but isn’t weird how we’re been in this position before? Like, we were clothed, but we’ve curled up against each other so many times, talked to each other like this so many times, but now it’s something different, you know.”

“We’ve never done what we did last night before.” She chuckled at that.

“That is true...though,” she said, dragging out that last word, sitting up on her elbow, “I do hope we can do it again.” She leant down and kissed him, and his arms came to snake around her body. He loved the feeling of her skin against his hands, his palms, his finger, the feeling of her body against his and she moved on top of him, straddling across his abdomen, her hips rolling against him.

“We could always go for round two now.” His eyes shone, a devious smirk across his face.

“Hmm, I like this more...take charge, horny Mark Cohen,” and she kissed him again. He hummed into her mouth, then again when she pulled away, “But I need a shower, so do you.”

“We could have one together.”

“Or one of us has a shower and one of us makes breakfast, I’ll let you pick.” He grumbled, unpleased with the proposal. She started a trail of kisses down his jaw, making sure to get her full body low and flush against his, “I promise to make it up to you later.” She bit that sensitive spot on his neck and he let out a moan, causing her to chuckle against his skin.

“I’ll make you breakfast. I’ll make you anything you want if you promise to do that again later,” he said, and she chuckled again.

“Then I’ll go shower.” She kissed him one more time, before climbing off him and standing. He couldn’t help but watch as she pulled on that oversized t-shirt of hers. “Enjoying the view?” She asked. He hadn’t realised he’d made himself so obvious, and his face flushed red, he could tell, and he averted his gaze. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that; come here.” He slowly stood, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around his waist as she walked round to him. She stretched up and gave him a kiss, sweet and gentle, before pulling back, keeping her arms around his neck. “You have every right to stare at me if you so wish,” and he laughed, embarrassed, “As long as I can stare at you just as much.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Why would you want to stare at me?” She countered.

“Because look at you, and, you know, you’re mine, at least I want to call you mine, so why would I not want to just look at you? You’re just so perfect.”

“My reason is exactly the same, so don’t put yourself down. And, just so you know, I’m definitely yours.” Taylor kissed him again, and he couldn’t help but smile into it. “I’m going to shower.” She pulled away, going to grab some clean clothes.

“I’ll try to make breakfast, hopefully not burn anything in the process.”

“Yeah, please don’t.”

Mark pulled on fresh boxer shorts and his pyjama shirt before following Taylor out of the room. She went to the bathroom and he began cooking. He still couldn’t quite believe that things went okay, so much better than okay and so much better than he thought, and he smile while he cracked the eggs into a bowl. It still felt like a dream; he’d honestly dream about it, not in a weird way, or...maybe it was weird, but to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to feel her body against his gave this rush, this feeling of euphoria he hadn’t felt in years. The way she’d held onto him last night, he knew for a fact he’d have marks across his back and chest, but he’d felt just as many he knew that too.

He whisked the eggs as he heard the shower begin. He poured the eggs in a pan, turning the heat on underneath and they began to cook. He hummed absentmindedly, sticking bread in the toasted.

“Eggs nearly done,” he called out.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she replied just as loud, and he chuckled. Seconds later, the shower stopped, he plated the eggs, and a few minutes later Taylor emerged dressing in her favourite ripped jeans, a plate white tee and flannel, a towel on her head.

“You look nice.” Mark couldn’t help but smile.

“Not so bad yourself lover boy.”

“Lover boy?”

“Yes, why, you got a problem with it?”

“Not at all.” She strode to him and kissed him, wrapping her arms around neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Now let’s eat.” And they did, sitting across from each other on the couch talking like they did, like the best friends they were, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes. When they finished, Mark went to shower, grabbing clean clothes on route, and Taylor put a pot of coffee on while she washed the dishes. This was good, what they had, and she wouldn’t mess it up, she told herself that.

The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s me, throw dorn the keys.”

She grabbed the keys off the counter and climbed through the window onto the fire escape, seeing Tom stood in the middle of the street, smiling up at her. “Catch them this time.” The throw was gentle and he managed to catch one handed, and he gave a sarcastic and dramatic cheer. She laughed and climbed back in. She locked the window best she could, and he was already coming through the door when she turned back around.

“Hey kiddo, how you doing?”

“Good, good, you?” She walked towards him to hugh hi, but he took a step back, eyeing her up and down with an expression on his face somewhere between confusion, suspicion and smugness. “What?”

“What happened to you last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, those hickies had to come from somewhere.” Oh right...yeah, they were all up her neck. She’d seen them in the mirror in the bathroom, but she’d already forgotten all about them being clearly visible.

“Well, you know...just-”

“You and Mark?!”

“Well-”

“You did!” She couldn’t say anything, just sort of smiled his way, looking down at the floor. His shocked and stupid grin toned down to a kind one as he approached her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she finally looked up. “I’m happy for you Taylor, I really am.”

“Thanks.”

As though fate wanted to play a joke on her, it was that moment that Mark stepped out the bathroom, trousers on, towel on his head...but no shirt. He walked out as first with a smile, but when he saw Collins, he looked so purely mortified that he could’ve died. Then Tom let out a sound, a yell, a sound common with frat boys, at the state of Mark’s neck, collarbone and chest. Mark froze in place.

“Damn boy,” Collins finally said after some moments of shocked silence. Mark knew he knew, it’s not like he could pretend it was someone else, so eventually he just chuckled.

“You think I’m bad, you should see the state of her.”

“I can see the hickies, thanks.”

“Not all of them, and trust me, she looks much worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. THAT'S IT. IT'S REALLY OVER AND I FEEL EMPTY. THAT'S THE FINALE!
> 
> Fun fact: when I started this fic, it was originally going to be a Mark/Roger store, and Taylor was going to be his roommate that helped Mark 'buck up' and finally make a move. If you remember, right near the start, there was a mention of Mark telling Taylor something close to when they first met, and he said he told her because he wouldn't be losing anything, well, originally he told her he was gay, or at least had a strong interest in men, specifically Roger, and he didn't know how to tell his friends. I think that was the initial plan, but it didn't gel, but I think I wrote the first...4 chapters with this idea. I'm glad I changed my mind, aha.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to those that have read it all, and those who've stuck around for this, it honestly means so much, like, THANK YOU SO MUCH OMG!!


	14. Epilogue: Season's Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad epilogue as requested!!
> 
> Enjoy!

_Six months after their first night together_

It's felt like decades since he'd been in the church, but it also felt like yesterday, when he was sat in the pew, listen to his friends speak with kind words of Angel and share their stories. He shared some too, but it felt different this time. The last time he was in the church, Roger sat by his side, tears down his face, while Mark just sat there. He was sad, but he did not cry. This time, Roger was not sat by his side, as Roger was the one they were burying.

Taylor held his hand when the others spoke; Mimi spoke first, an absolute mess, but talking about her late fiance with such kindness and warmth and loss. She told the tale of their engagement, so shortly after she was safe and in his arms, and he took her to Central Park, and he bought her flowers, and they were already wilting but it's what he could afford with the ring. And it started to rain, only light drops falling on them, and he knelt down on the damp grass and held her hands in his and said ‘I am already the luckiest man alive to be with you, but I will somehow become even luckier if you would be my wife’. She said it was beautiful, and she couldn't contain a smile, and she said yes, and their shared a kiss in the rain. Mark smiled throughout, they all did, and he held onto Taylor’s hand tight.

She spoke too. “At first, me and Roger really didn't get along. We didn't seem to understand each other, but it turned out we were just scared of the same thing. We understood each other more after that, and I learnt that Roger was a really nice guy. He was laid back, and loved his stupid guitar. He tried to teach me once or twice, but I just wouldn't take to it. He was patient with me every time though. He turned out to be a really great friend, but I found he'd always been a good man.”

Tear were falling too, she couldn't help it. She hadn't known him that long, half a year, but she was still losing someone close to her. “There was this one time actually, back when we didn’t get along, and I went into my bedroom, and I literally had slept in there properly for weeks, but I went in one day for clothes, and I found some boxes of mine had been opened. I knew it was him, Mark wouldn’t’ve done it and no one else had been in the apartment in the last day or so. I was ready to confront him, but decided not to. We made up shortly after, and then we found you,” she said, looking to Mimi, sat at the front, “And it was a few days after that I mentioned it to him. He quickly admitted to it, saying he had no good reason for rummaging through my stuff other than to try and piss me off, but he said he was sorry and I accepted the apology, though I was never really that angry to begin with. We actually ended up have a really good talk, and I told him about me friend Delilah, and how we fell out and she moved away. And he just listened and when I finished, and we were sat on the couch at the time, he just hugged me. It really took me by surprise, but by the time Mark came home, we were sat together on the couch, and I was just slouched into Roger and we laughing...He was a good guy.”

Mark spoke last. Taylor was almost reluctant to let go of his hand, but she did, and Mark stood in front of the casket. He stood facing it at first, and he just stared, not really sure what to think, but he did turn around; he couldn't speak looking at a wooden box containing the dead body of his best friend.

“Roger and I have know each other since we seventeen, back in Scarsdale. He was the new kid and I was the weirdo. I think it was because he knew nobody that we became friends, he just found someone quiet to sit with, and it went from there. I had some struggles, anxiety, mild depression, but he was there for me when I needed him, and he made sure I was alright.” He was fidgeting with his hands; he looked down at them and smiled faintly. “We moved to New York together, and, I mean, we’ve never had it good I guess, but it was worse when we first got here; we had some money, but not much, not enough, and no one was renting, so we stayed in the homeless shelter for a few nights. That’s when we met you,” and he pointed to Tom Collins, sat a few rows back with a sad yet fond smile, “And you helped us out, and we met Benny and shortly after Maureen.”

He looked and smiled at each as he said their names. “We all managed to move in together, and life in New York really started up then. It was rocky at times, but we pulled through, even when it was just the two of us, broke and unemployed, we somehow managed. He went through a lot, with April and his HIV, but I was there to make sure he was okay, or, well, as okay as he could be. And he helped me too, made sure things didn’t get too much for me. He was a good friend. He left that one time, I’m sure you remember, I was a mess. I met Taylor, you know that too...I know you two had it rocky for a while,” he said, directed at her, “And I was so scared I’d have to choose between you two. Then you guys starting getting along and everything was great. Me and Roger had never been closer in these past six months, which makes it just that bit harder to stand here now.” He’d tried so hard to keep it together, but his voice wavered and cracked, and that one little slip was just too much. A strangled sob escaped, then tears; he brought a hand to his face to wipe them away, but it didn’t help. He was just stood there, now twenty three, crying his eyes out; the loudest sounds heard were his sharp intakes of air every so often.

Taylor eventually stood, slowly, and slid from the pew to stand by him. She stood at his side and didn’t even touch him, but he knew she was there, and that was enough for him to try a little bit harder to pull it together. Eventually he did, his face red and puffy and his glasses smeared, but Taylor held onto him, a hand in his and on his back and he continued. “Whenever we’d have to burn stuff to get some heat in that stupid apartment, he’d burn his music posters and I’d burn my screenplays, but he always had to read through bits before either throwing them in the bin or setting them on fire; ‘the narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit’ was one of his favourites, and I always liked ‘the music ignites the night with passion fire’; it was something written on one of the posters. Roger said he didn’t write it, but it seemed like something he’d say about his own music. I urm...I’m going to miss him a lot.”

Mark turned into Taylor’s hold, wrapping his arms around her waist, and she barely had time to move her's to around his neck. She stretched up on her toes, closer to his level, and held him, and tears fell again, into her dark green sweatshirt. The church hall was silent other than the crying, light tears falling from Taylor too. Everyone just watched, but that was okay. They all knew Mark needed her, as much as he needed to breathe it seemed, so even though it was heartbreaking to watch their friend fall apart, they just sat there.

It was sometime late before they separated, and then it was time for the burial, and they all moved outside. Mark never let go of Taylor’s hand and she never let go of his. Part of her still couldn’t believe what was happening, she was sure all of them felt that way to at least some degree, but as they stood around the hole dug into the earth, the coffin lying there, next to Angel’s grave, it truly felt real. There was no way to wake up to Roger’s stupid guitar playing travelling up from the apartment below, or from the living room when he helped himself to the good coffee. Collin’s realised there was no way to go to Life Support with his friend again, and then go grab cash from the machine on the corner with his secret code of A-N-G-E-L. Maureen realised there was no way they’d had stupid duets together anymore. Joanna realised there was no way for them to have silly little drinking contest, always betting on who’d pass out first out of the group. Benny realised there way no way to make amends with him, and after everything he’d done. Mark realised there was no way to hear his friend’s voice make stupid little comments about his writing and film, or for him to get these little guitar riffs stuck in his head for the next few days. Mimi realised there was no way to wake up next to the man she loved, the man that helped her change her life around, to show her that drugs weren’t the answer, and to value life more when you still had so much ahead of you.

Roger had specifically requested that no flowers be thrown onto the coffin when it was buried, instead, they were all to throw guitar picks, and they could all pick one to throw. Taylor felt a hand on her shoulder, and it was Tom, smiling down at her from his great height, being as comforting as he could when he was also falling apart.

They couldn’t stand there all day, though they were all tempted, but they all left together, knowing Roger wouldn’t want them turning into statues over him. They decided that it was time to get drunk, get so drunk that nothing mattered anymore. It may not have been the best decision they’d ever made, but it was unanimous, that they’d withdrawn a shit tonne of money from the ATM, spend it all on alcohol, and go back to either Mark and Taylor’s or Collins’ and get so fucking wasted that they didn’t feel anything anymore. It may not have been the best decision in the long run, but right now, it was the more perfect thing they could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? It was so sad to write. I do really love Roger by the way, I don't that comes across in this story, bless. But yeah, so that happened...
> 
> Let me know what you think; leave a comment or kudos. It really means the world ^_^


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